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Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School

2009 The Lost Neighborhoods of Newest York Carroll Varner IV

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COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

THE LOST NEIGHBORHOODS OF NEWEST YORK

By

CARROLL VARNER IV

A Thesis submitted to the Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts

Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2009 The members of the committee approve the thesis of Carroll Varner IV defended on September 28, 2009 .

______Robert Olen Butler Professor Directing Thesis

______Diane Roberts Committee Member

______S.E. Gontarski Committee Member

______Kathleen, Yancey Chair, English Department

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members.

ii TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract ...... iv

1...... 1

2...... 11

3...... 18

4...... 25

5...... 35

6...... 48

7...... 55

8...... 63

9...... 74

10...... 86

11...... 95

12...... 104

13...... 117

14...... 126

15...... 136

16...... 144

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH...... 146

iii ABSTRACT

This thesis is a novel. It is the story of Frank, a pickpocket who moonlights as a children’s magician. He falls in love with Nasya who is a volunteer at a hospice for children with horrible and strange diseases. The book follows their relationships as well as the people around them and the city in which they live.

iv CHAPTER 1

No one ever noticed Frank. You could be staring at him for hours and never notice him. He had become so good at being invisible, his own mother would have had trouble describing him to a police officer. Brownish eyes, brownish hair. Tallish, but not really tall. As thin as one can be without being fat. The truth was, Frank looked like whatever he was wearing. In the the darkened reflection of the subway glass, he avoided looking at the portly bald accountant standing near the sliding doors. All he needed was a quick glance to tell him that the bald man in the dark suit kept his wallet in his front inside pocket. The telltale bulge was virtually invisible beneath his suit coat but Frank knew it was there. He could tell by his posture and by his girth. Bigger men were less likely to keep their wallets in their pants. Their large thighs made it difficult to pull out their billfolds while sitting down. This man, Frank determined, was a man who made great efforts not to appear foolish. This was a man who would never stand up to pay the bill at a restaurant when dining with colleagues. This was a man who took great pains to avoid embarrassment. All this Frank could tell by the way he squeezed the pole next to him and obsessively watched the blinking light of the approaching station on the display above him. Frank walked stiff legged to join the man at the door, feigning an unfamiliarity with the movement of the train, and struggled with a large black case he pulled behind him, a copy of yesterday’s Post under one arm. The portly bald man avoided eye contact. Frank grabbed hold of the support pole and let his hand touch that of the bald man’s. The portly bald man flinched and quickly moved his hand down several inches. Frank watched the back of the man’s neck redden. At the next the stop, the bald man was forced to push up against Frank as the other commuters left and entered the car. The bald man kept his eyes looking upward, avoiding the faces of the people brushing past him, but mostly that of Frank. For his part Frank appeared to ignore the bald man’s discomfort and was attempting to read his newspaper despite the crush. But behind the shield of the day old Post, Frank’s quick fingers were busy removing the contents of the bald man’s wallet. When the doors closed, the wallet was back in the bald man’s inner pocket, and Frank’s newspaper had been folded and returned to the nook under his arm. The bald man exited at 66th street, Frank at 79th. Later that day, the portly man would remove his wallet to buy a sausage roll at a corner pizzeria. Instead of the three twenty dollar bill he had placed there that morning he found an off-white business card. It read:

F.T. World’s Greatest Pickpocket None of his credit cards had been taken, nor had his license. Only the money. He did not notice that the photographs of his ex-wife and children were also missing. And he did not remember the young man in the subway.

1 1.2

The week before, Nasya had bought a bag of cherries from the corner fruit vender. This morning she had found them covered with gray mold and had to throw them away. She never had a chance to taste them. It was still on her mind as she lay with the Good Doctor, intwined on their wide bed, and covered by a single white sheet. The windows were open despite the weather, and the sounds of late afternoon traffic drifted up from the street twelve stories below. The Good Doctor’s wiped his brow with the corner of the sheet. His movement exposed Nasya's bare right shoulder. Shivering, she curled herself into a ball and pulled the thin cotton sheet up to her chin. Her dark hair lay in damp curls across the white pillow, framing her soft features. She was much younger than him. The Good Doctor was 47 years old but could look 37 on a good day. Still much older than the 24-year-old girl beside him. He lay on his back with his specially crafted prosthetic arm wrapped around her shoulders. His other prosthetic arm scratched the day’s growth of stubble on his chin. His two prosthetic legs were still beneath the sheets. These were his lovemaking extremities. He had designed them himself to be especially pleasing for when he was entertaining women. His hands were a special synthetic plastic with a slick rubber coating. The legs he designed with a reversible knee to allow him a wide selection of angles and positions to choose from. “How was it?” he asked, as he often did. Nasya nestled closer into his arms and ignored the question. But the Good Doctor was persistent. “Amazing,” she answered. “Really? I thought the hydraulic piston was a little off.” The Good Doctor sat up and pulled the cover away revealing the prosthetic that he was most proud of. He had molded it from a cast created using Nasya’s own body. After months of study he had built this prototype device specifically to give Nasya maximum pleasure. He designed it with several secondary functions to provide extra stimulation. It could vibrate, pulse, revolve, and even simulate ejaculation. He also painted it lavender because it was Nasya’s favorite color. It gave him great satisfaction to know that no one could ever pleasure Nasya the way he could, and that it could be proven mathematically. The Good Doctor considered it his greatest creation, the pinnacle of prosthetic science. But being the kind of man he was, he would never be satisfied. He was certain the design could be improved upon. So at the end of every act of intimacy he would inevitably subject Nasya to a mild interrogation. “What did you like? What didn’t you like?” he always asked. The longer Nasya resisted his questions the more he would pester her. If she did not feel like giving numerical ratings to her orgasms, it was easier to give in. “Well, maybe the vibrations were a little much.” The Good Doctor was surprised. “You didn’t like the vibrations?”

2 “No, I did, they just felt a little out of place. They were a little too much.” The Good Doctor left the bed and walked over to his workbench. Nasya fell back on the bed in frustration. But the Good Doctor was oblivious and had removed his lovemaking hands and replaced them with his tinkering hands. “Maybe if I replace the augmenter rotor,” he muttered to himself. Nasya began to dress. Her clothes were folded on the table next to the bed. The Good Doctor remained preoccupied as she began pulling on her pants. “It’s Anna’s birthday today.” “hmm” “Mom hired a magician.” Nasya disappeared into the bathroom. The Good Doctor had removed the outer shell of his prosthetic and was toying with the wiring. Nasya reappeared fully dressed with her coat over one arm. “I was supposed to be there an hour ago to help with the refreshments,” Nasya said, more to herself than to the back of his head. “Ahh, of course... it was the oscillator gauge!” The Good Doctor spun around on his chair and proudly displayed a small metal piece held by tweezers. He noticed Nasya’s blank stare. “The oscillator gauge, it controls the force of the vibrations. It was jammed causing the oscillations to remain at high instead of fluctuating. See...” Nasya looked, although without any idea what it is she was looking at. As she humored him, the Good Doctor noticed her coat. “Where are you going?” He asked. “Anna’s birthday party, I just told you.” “Who’s Anna?” “My niece. She is turning seven.” The Good Doctor sadly put down his penis. “I’m sorry. Am I supposed to go?” “It’s not important,” she answered and touched him on his shoulder before walking out the door. The Good Doctor was visibly relieved. He immediately picked up his prosthetic and started up where he had left off. After taking the elevator to the street, Nasya walked two blocks out of her way to avoid the fruit vendor. Seeing the tiny man from Honduras wrapped in layers of flannel would have made her feel guilty. She knew she was being silly, but took the precaution anyway. In her mind she imagined the little man reprimanding her for letting good cherries go to waste. Nasya had to cross the park to get from The Good Doctor’s apartment to her parents West side brownstone. The ground was hard and she could see the footprints of horses frozen in the mud. It reminded Nasya of the hand prints movie and sport stars left outside famous restaurants or theaters. She carefully stepped in the prints of people who had walked ahead ahead of her, avoiding the mud and leaving no mark behind.

3 1.3

It was mid March. The worst time of year to be in New York City. The skies were white and dull. The plants had yet to be reborn and everything was wet and brown. The weather was cold except for fifteen minutes each afternoon when the sun appeared briefly out of the clouds to raise expectations before disappearing for the rest of the day. Frank had an appointment, but he was early. He sat on the steps of the old Lutheran church and watched as people passed. He felt the cold of the concrete through the thin denim of his worn jeans. It was the time of day when no one seemed to be walking alone. Even the delivery men from the nearby restaurants walked in pairs. They chattered happily, thankful that the lunch rush was over and savoring the few quiet hours before dinner orders started coming in. Schools had let out and nannies led herds of school children in gray uniforms. Young mothers jogged past, pushing their infants ahead of them in aerodynamic strollers. Frank had a good head for faces. Sometimes, he would see a familiar person sharing the same subway car and he would remember walking past them on the street weeks before. Often he could recall the exact street. But clearest in Frank’s memory were the people he had robbed. He remembered the owner of every wallet he had picked. It helped that he kept their pictures to remind him, but he also tended to see a lot of them afterwards. They never recognized Frank, but he always felt a connection with them, knowing that he had changed the course of at least one of their days. Frank never stole from the same mark twice. Once he did rob an older man and months later robbed the secret lover of the man’s wife. Both the wallets contained photographs of the same auburn-haired woman with green eyes. In the husband’s pictures she posed with the children, while in the boyfriend’s pictures she seductively posed in lingerie. Frank spent the remainder of an hour watching as the people passed. He realized that he was no longer early and could even be late. He watched one more girl walk by before leaving the cold steps of the church. She was a pretty girl with large dark eyes and darker hair. The kind of beauty that could only have been accidental. Where Frank blended in, she would always stand out. Frank happened to be going the same way and followed her figure as she passed in front of him, trying to read her personality by the way she walked. She led him several block to the door of a well maintained brownstone. She was attractive in such a startling way that for a moment Frank forgot where he was going. He stared vacantly at the door for almost a minute before his appointment crept back into his mind. He fished out the crumpled paper from his pocket and checked the address.

1.4

Nasya had just closed the inner door when she heard the doorbell. She mentally debated whether to let the maid answer and decided against it. She

4 opened the wide oak door and saw a young man looking up from the stoop with a large black case. He met her stare silently. Moments passed before Nasya realized she had not said a word to the visitor, but before she could speak, the man interrupted her intention. “I’m Frank.... Tivney,” he said. Nasya looked back at him without understanding. “The Magician,” he added. Nasya’s confusion lifted and she gestured for Frank to follow her inside. She lead him through a labyrinth of hallways resulting from several chaotic remodeling attempts on the 1840 Federal-style townhouse. First, up the front stairs to the second floor. Then, to the end of the hall, through the last door, and down the long spiral staircase to the basement. Frank followed without comment as he struggled with his case up and down the staircases. Finally, she opened the last door and revealed the spacious basement. Original brick walls and hardwood floors were decked out garishly for the party. Colorful paper products of every type and vocation had claimed the room as their own. In the midst of the decorations a crowd of well-dressed men and women were sipping Chardonnay and allowing their children to run freely on their own. All the little girls in attendance were wearing elaborate child-size cocktail dresses. They reminded Nasya of colorfully wrapped pieces of hard candy, and suddenly she felt like she was inside of a giant piñata. She left Frank to set up on the designated card table and headed to the rear of the room, hoping to hide from her mother whom she knew was looking for her. She found a seat next to a small boy who appeared to be the only male child at the party. He looked miserable in his corduroy sport jacket and clip-on tie. She gave him a smile to which he responded with a pouting lip and ran off, nearly crashing into a short woman with a stern expression. Nasya’s mother had found her. All the household had gathered to watch Frank’s magic show. The maid and the nanny hovered in the hallway trying not to be seen by their employer and set upon some task. The children were gathered in a semicircle on the floor ruffling their party dresses and pulling their hair from the cheap tiaras given as party favors. Their parents, assorted relatives, well wishers, and acquaintances sat behind them on high stools sipping their glasses of chilled wine. Even the caterers took care to look busy by straightening table cloths and plates of hors d'oeuvres while keeping their gazes firmly on Frank. But Frank was there for the children. He played for their reactions, and they watched his hands with delight as each new wonder was revealed. The hands that could so artfully remove a man’s pay from his front pocket could also bring a squeal of joy from a young audience member shocked to discover that a 12 foot long scarf was lodged in the back of her throat. They were remarkable hands. It was with these hands that Frank could make handkerchiefs dance and feathers fly. He could make coins disappear and reappear in ears and noses. He could coax furry creatures from hats and then turn them into confetti.

5 Befitting her stature as the birthday girl, Anna sat in the middle of the throng using her aunt’s lap as her throne. She laughed with utter abandon at each swish of a cape or tap of a wand.

1.5

In a cloistered attic study, several staircases above the festivities, one family member had absented himself from the birthday entertainments. Dr. Egal Capra Silverman sat alone in a well-worn armchair with duct tape covering the rips along the seams. The celebratory hum of his granddaughter's birthday party arose from beneath his feet, but Dr. Silverman either did not hear or was not interested. Dr. Cap, as he preferred to be known, was observing the Shabbos, the Jewish day of rest. He had spent the day in quiet contemplation. None of the pleas or threats from his family had been enough to make Dr. Cap leave his quiet and dark sanctuary. It made little difference to Dr. Cap that Anna’s birthday party took place on a Tuesday, rather than Saturday. This lifelong agnostic insisted on carefully observing the “day of rest” tradition as he had every day for the past eighteen months. Dr. Cap spent forty two years as an orthodontist. It was a long time to fit metal wires into the mouths of teenagers. In the entirety of Dr. Cap’s long career he had never taken a vacation or a single sick day. Even when his wife took the children on holidays to the Catskills or Nantucket, Dr. Cap stayed behind to take care of the many teeth that were entrusted to him. But after turning over his Lexington Avenue orthodontic practice to his impatient son, Dr. Cap decided to atone for all those working weekends by observing a very long day of rest. It caused quite a stir among the rest of the family, when Dr. Cap casually informed them the morning after his retirement dinner that for the next six years he would be spurning the use of electricity, phones, and the handling of money. His wife was furious and threatened to never feed him again. His son-in-law, who had inadvertently put the idea in Dr. Cap’s head, was extremely insulted that Dr. Cap would mock thousands of years of Jewish traditions. His own son could only shake his head in disbelief at the man he had stopped trying to understand years before. His two daughters said nothing. The idea had come to him the night before as he was sitting through an embarrassing number of toasts extolling his prowess as a tooth wrangler. During a pause between courses his son-in-law had managed to corner him and earnestly attempted to persuade Dr. Cap into going to temple with him and his wife. The son-in-law, a respected oral surgeon, had grown up in an orthodox household and considered himself somewhat of an ambassador of the faith to the Upper West Side’s lapsed Jewry. Usually, Dr. Cap nodded off whenever the husband of his oldest daughter attempted to engage him in conversation, but this time the description of a recent Shabbos celebration sparked his imagination. The idea of active non-activity. Dr. Cap decided he needed a couple days of rest.

6 His decision to rest for six years was only arithmetic progression for the forty two years of relentless fighting with malocclusions. It was an odd lifestyle for Dr. Cap to embrace. He had been raised in a strictly atheist household. His own father, a communist dilettante, had forbidden even the mention of a higher power in his household. And although his wife would sometimes go to services on religious holidays, Dr. Cap had never set foot in a synagogue. So despite living in the Jewish capital of America, he was as ignorant of Jewish culture and traditions as a Midwestern farm boy. To his son-in-law’s further consternation, Dr. Cap did not seek out the counsel of a rabbi or anyone that would have talked him out of his six year sabbath. He began his observation immediately and with no guidelines except the simple ones he made himself. Dr. Cap abstained from all forms of labor. He would not help move a piece of furniture or attempt to fix the downstairs toilet. He would not come downstairs if the lights were on and locked his wallet in the drawer of his desk. Nora Silverman was not about to accept her husband’s decision peacefully. She made his first few weeks of rest as difficult as possible. She put a padlock on the refrigerator, turned on every light in the house, and hid his clothes beneath the bathroom sink. Dr. Cap quickly realized he was working much too hard at resting. So he and his wife compromised. He would limit the time of rest to three years instead of six, and she would take the lock off the refrigerator and keep it stocked with precooked food. At first this compromise suited Mrs. Silverman fine. For all the years of their marriage she had been mistress of the house. With Dr. Cap a recluse in the attic, her authority over the household undiminished. As for Mr. Silverman, the rest was doing him good. He spent his days in thought. He slept late and enjoyed his selection of kosher wines. Sometimes, in a slight breach of the rules, he would listen to music on a hand-cranked phonograph the maid kept wound for him. Dr. Cap remained ignorant of the accompanying traditions and rituals. He was a lousy Jew, and had little interest in pursuing a religious education. Occasionally, Dr. Cap left the confines of his attic and went out into the outside world. Matilda, the Silverman’s long-suffering maid, would walk ahead of him turning off electric lights until he made his way past the door of his townhouse. He spent many days wandering around Central Park watching the children and the dogs as they played. But most of the time Dr. Silverman spent just sitting in his favorite chair, which was where Anna found him when she came upstairs from her party with a smuggled piece of cake. Dr. Cap was the only person with whom little Anna was shy. Instead of her usual loud and excited demeanor, she became timid and quiet. She stood motionless beside his armchair until Dr. Cap turned and opened his eyes. “Hello Birthday girl. Is that for me?” Anna looked down at the large slice of cake on the paper plate and nodded.

7 “She wanted you to have it since you refused to come down for her birthday party,” said Nasya from the doorway. “Thank you, Anna. Why don’t you run back downstairs and have fun with all your friends.” Anna bolted for the door. Nasya and her father listened as Anna’s dress shoes as they thumped down the stairs. Dr. Cap smiled to cover the effort of pulling himself out of his chair. He took the slice of cake and placed it on the corner his desk. “Dad, what are you doing?” “I’m not hungry. I’ll save it for later.” “No, Dad, what are you doing?” It was the same old argument again, They both knew it. Every time they saw each other it was the same. Dr. Cap slumped down back into his chair and prepared to be scolded. “A whole lot of nothing, I guess.” he said, vainly attempting to head off the coming antagonism. “Oh Dad.” “No, that’s not true. I’ve been up here sitting up in my chair and thinking.” “You seem to be doing that a lot these days.” “And so what if I am? I’m retired, if I want to spend a day in thought, I certainly deserve it.” His quick and angry response surprised them both. Nasya immediately softened her expression. She was tired of the old argument, too. She sat down on his armrest and squeezed his hand to let him know that she wasn’t going to fight with him today. His eyes smiled in thanks as he patted her arm. “Yes, you do, but what is it that you are thinking about?” “Lots of things, but daydreams mostly.” “Daydreams?” “When I was younger I used to spend my time dreaming about the future and all the different lives I could lead. Now I’m old, I spend all day thinking about the past and all the different lives I could have lived.” Nasya moved over to sit on the ottoman so she could see her father eyes. “What lives?” She asked. “Well, this is silly, but I used to want to sing.” “I didn’t know you sang.” “No, I don’t, I never did, but I used to think maybe I could start. And that maybe I would be real good at it. And maybe one of the right people would notice, and I would be a big star.” “You wanted to be a big star?” Dr. Cap smiled at his youngest daughter. “No, I don’t think I would have liked being a star, but I sure liked thinking about it. It’s kind of sad as you grow older. All your fantasies start to become obsolete. You plan all these alternative lives, but as you age more and more of them get cut off, and you end up with a life that’s not like any of the ones you imagined.” “Is that what you were doing, thinking of how your life could have been different?”

8 “ No, today I was thinking about you.” “Me?” “I was remembering the time you gave your sister a bloody nose.” Nasya looked away from him. “You were only six years old, but you would not be told what to do.” Dr, Cap looked for Nasya to respond, but she just looked down at her shoes. “So how are you, Nasya?” He asked. “I’m all right.” “What have you been up to?” “Well, the Good Doctor is having a dinner this Thursday in honor of his charity work.” “I asked about you. What have you been up to?” “Well, we are thinking of going to the Hamptons next week...” Dr. Cap quickly interrupted, “Why is it that every time I ask about you, you tell me about the Good Doctor? It’s like you don’t do anything anymore.” “Dad...” “I’m serious. You are a smart, beautiful young woman who can do anything she wants, and yet you don’t seem to want to do anything. Just tell me please, what do you want to do with yourself?” Nasya seethed. “I don’t know.” “See that’s fine. It’s ok not to know. All I am asking is that you think about it, and not just wait until someone decides for you.” “You just don’t like the Good Doctor.” “No, I don’t like the Good Doctor.” responded Dr. Cap aware his daughter had just successfully changed the subject. “But you know what? I don’t have to like the Good Doctor. It only matters what you think. You can do what you want, I just wish you would.” Nasya glared at him. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I just wish you’d take an interest in something.” “I volunteer for Holden House. ” “I know. You’re right. And I am so proud of you for doing that, for caring for them. I think it’s a good ...start. But Nasya, volunteering to read to sick kids a couple times a week, while a good thing to do, is not a life.” For a few moments, Nasya sat in angry silence before exploding into a familiar tirade. “You are such a hypocrite! Telling me I’m lazy for not doing anything with my life while you sit around in this attic all day without any lights, making mom miserable, ignoring the rest of us, and even refusing to go to your only granddaughter's birthday party despite it being in the basement of your very own home. And the Good Doctor, I just don’t know where that comes from. If it’s because he’s older, well, Mom is nineteen years younger than you, so you have no right to talk!” Dr. Cap frowned. He knew Nasya was right, and that they had stumbled into the same argument yet again. Only this time it was he who started it. He felt

9 ashamed that he fell into the same pattern of behavior when it was the last thing he wanted to do. Nasya gave him an icy stare and he knew. “I suppose we are both disappointments to each other.” “Thanks a lot Dad.” Nasya said and quickly left before he could take it back. “No that’s not what I meant.” he said, but to no one but himself.

10 CHAPTER 2

Home was a gutted dump above Young Mann’s Restaurant Supply in the gray area between Chinatown and the Lower East Side. The entire apartment was in the midst of a total renovation. Electrical wiring hung from the walls and ceilings. Cans of eggshell white were stacked in a small pyramid against the unpainted drywall. The floor tiles for both the bathroom and the small kitchen were still in their boxes and blocking the narrow hallway. Frank’s roommate Waylon had convinced Young Mann of Young Mann's Restaurant Supply to rent the apartment above his store to him and Frank. The agreement was for discounted rent in exchange for them to continue the remodeling. Of course once they moved in the work slowed to a crawl. Every other month or so, Young Mann would ask about the progress and Waylon and Frank would spend an evening painting or installing light fixtures so they could justify telling Mann how well it was going. Waylon explained to Young Man that the longer the remodeling took, the longer Young Mann would have someone willing to work for free. Young Mann was smart enough not to get caught in Waylon’s circular reasoning. But he was fond of Waylon and Frank so he forgave them for the slowness of the renovation. He disliked the thought of finding new tenants. Waylon and Frank were the only ones in the building who never hassled him about repairs and problems. Young Mann wasn’t interested in being a landlord. He was in the restaurant supply business. He had only bought the building to save it from being condemned in the seventies. Young Mann’s store had been occupying the ground floor when the former owners declared bankruptcy and abandoned the property. Young Mann purchased the building for next to nothing after it had been seized by the city. He used the upper floors for storage and focused on the business of restaurant supply. As for the building’s itself, Young Mann was not concerned and did as little to maintain it as he could get away with. But then, almost overnight the neighborhood became popular. Suddenly people from all over started showing up and clamoring for apartments. They were willing to pay such high rents that Young Mann finally broke down and converted his storage spaces into small rental units. It wasn’t long before Young Mann’s building was filled with young people eager to experience the area’s new Bohemian vibe. But they weren’t happy just to rent the space from him, they expected him to be their personal handyman. Young Mann could not understand why these new kid tenants with their tattoos and piercings expected him to help them paint walls or fix broken lighting in the halls. The building was a dump when they moved in. It would be a dump when they moved out as well. If they wanted a nice apartment building, they should have moved somewhere else. Waylon and Frank were the only tenants who never complained, and so he let them slide. They never withheld rent or made him go to court over a busted refrigerator.

11 2.2

On a bookcase next to his bed, Frank kept leather bound albums filled with the wallet photographs he had removed from hundreds of New Yorkers. The money he took was tossed uncounted into a compartment beneath his mattress but Frank always took great care of the pictures. Most of the them were of families. Husbands and wives with their kids and sometimes grand kids both young and old. They were usually posed but some were informal gatherings like birthdays and barbecues. All of them had creased edges from being handled and shown off repeatedly. The next common group were the photos of young women smiling and hugging each other. They were usually at events where alcohol was served and the same wallet might have a dozen pictures of the same people in the same pose but different outfits. After the girls came the dogs. Frank figured he had seen almost every North American dog breed represented in the wallets of Manhattanites, from the common pug to the rare Irish Wolfhound. The rest of the photographs were mostly individuals and Frank did not like to put them into categories. They were photos of wives, kids, babies, relatives, or celebrities but to Frank each one was distinct. He found stories in the photos. Today he discovered a small picture of a pretty young woman in a blue sweater. The picture had been ripped in two, but then carefully taped back together. “She dumped you, but you took her back.” He also found an interesting series of photos of the same boy as he grew from a baby to a teenager. The sequence ended suddenly with the boy dressed up for the prom. It looked like the last picture was taken at least a decade earlier judging by the haircuts. Frank hoped nothing had happened to him, but still visualized the prom night limo accident that may have ended the poor boy’s life. There was an old photograph of a young girl in a sailor suit that looked like it was taken in the forties. The cheeks and eyes had been tinted. It was folded with another picture, this time of an older woman holding a baby. Frank looked closely and realized the older woman and the young girl were the same. A small feeling of recognition crept into Frank’s head. He ignored the rest of the day’s photos and began searching through the many photo albums on his book shelf. He took out one of his earliest and thumbed through it until he came across the picture he was looking for. It was a family portrait of three young children standing around their mother. The oldest was a boy about eleven, the next was a serious looking girl of nine, but the youngest was a smiling girl of four. In the picture her face was bright red and her hair was a frizzy mess. She must have been playing strenuously before the picture was taken. Even as the camera clicked, the mother had a restraining hand around her youngest child’s waist. Frank knew immediately who they were. He had seen each of them that afternoon at young Anna’s birthday party. The mother in the picture was the grandmother who had paid him. The middle child could only be Anna’s mother who never sat down during the entire two hour event. The oldest he saw only for a second, but he was sure it was the uncle. He had arrived while the candles were being blown out, dropped off a present and then left immediately. The

12 youngest girl in the photograph was the aunt whom Frank had followed to the front door. She looked the most different from her younger self. Her nose and eyes were the same but there was something else that did not match. Frank could still remember the man he took the photo from. It was one of the first wallets he had ever taken. His skills were in their early stages and he often resorted to amateurish tricks to relieve someone of their pocketbook. It had been older man, not quite an old man, but a man who was on the verge of later life. Frank had approached him in Central Park and asked the man to help turn him in the direction of the Alice in Wonderland statue. As the older man looked down at the map offered to him, Frank carefully reached around into his pocket and took out his wallet. But the older man did something unexpected; he volunteered to show Frank to the statue himself. Frank barely managed to keep his panic in check. Reluctantly, he let the older man lead him along the meandering paths, all the while pretending not to know where he was going. The older man chatted amicably about absolutely everything, from the weather, to baseball, to the young skateboarders who rode by. He asked Frank so many questions that Frank was forced to tell the truth just because he couldn’t come up with lies fast enough. As they walked, Frank had the older man’s wallet in his jacket pocket, fiddling with it to remove the contents. As they reached the boat pond, Frank managed to slip the wallet back into the man’s suit. It was the first time he ever returned a wallet after he had taken it. He and the older gentlemen parted when they reached the statue. They shook hands and the older man wished Frank all the best before he turned and went off again on his own. The wallet of the old man contained no money whatsoever, but it did hold three pictures that were now part of Frank’s collection-the family portrait of his wife and children, a small picture of a newfoundland, and an enigmatic photo of a young Hispanic girl. Frank turned the page of his album to look at the picture of the girl. She looked about 17, but the photo itself could be fifty years old. It looked like it came from a cheap photo booth. The girl was smiling a real smile. It was not the smile most people smile in pictures, but the smile of someone who is truly happy. A person for whom the camera was not the center of attention. Frank could see her eyes looking to the left of the frame. She wasn’t looking at the lens. She was looking at someone who was making her laugh. So, the older man was Anna’s grandfather. Frank had not seen him at the birthday party, and hoped that he was doing all right. He would have liked to have seen him again. Perhaps he could even find out who the Hispanic girl was. It had been almost two hours since he had returned home. Most of that time he had spent looking at the photographs. With utmost care he catalogued each new photograph and stored them in his newest photo album. With his work complete, Frank stifled a yawn and walked through the living room to the bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was incomplete. The floor was still concrete, and the sink had a pair of pliers where the hot water handle should be. The only thing close to being finished was the shower, which Waylon

13 had fitted with an extra strong shower head as his first and probably last act of remodeling. From the thin ceiling above, Frank could hear the muffled sounds of three televisions playing simultaneously. That would be Grover, his high-strung upstairs neighbor. Frank splashed his face with water and looked at his appearance in the duct tape hung mirror. Then the power went out. Frank heard Grover’s loud curse followed by the thumping sound as he ran down the stairs to the basement fuse box.

2.3

Down below Waylon was sitting on the stoop watching Young Mann’s only son Mann pull down the steel shutters of his father’s store. This Mann was the third in the lines of Manns and didn’t share his father’s view of the building. For him it was the beginning of a real estate empire. Little Mann, as he was often called, wanted no part of Young Mann’s Restaurant Supply just as his father had wanted no part of Mann’s Plumping Supply up the street. They were talking idly about property tax while really watching as a group of young women in private school uniforms walked by. But their lecherous thoughts were interrupted by a sudden collective curse from the apartments above and behind them. “Electricity must have gone off again.” said Waylon, grateful that the subject had changed. Little Mann let out a curse of his own. It was always Little Mann who suffered the abuses and complaints of the tenants. Whenever something went wrong, his father would either disappear or suddenly lose his command of the English language. Too often Little Mann had been forced to translate phrases like “rent abatement” and ”foot in your ass ” into Mandarin. “I don’t want to deal with Grover right now.” “Grover? He’s a pussy cat.” “Last week he tried call Dad at home and ended up cussing out my mom.” Waylon laughed out loud but quickly quieted after noticing Little Mann’s expression sour. “Weren’t you all supposed to to do something about the electrical situation a couple weeks back? I remember someone pushing a petition under my door.” “Dad had an electrician look at the fuse box, but the guy said the problem was the wires and that the whole building needed to be redone.” “So when is that supposed to happen?” Little Mann shrugged. “It’s too expensive. Dad doesn’t want to pay for it:” Little Mann looked at the building as if contemplating entering, but then sat back down. “I think he is waiting to see if some of the tenants will get frustrated and just leave. “

14 Waylon nodded. “Well, I think I’ll go collect Frank otherwise he’ll just sit in the dark all night, you want to go get a drink?” “No, I’ll probably have to deal with the fallout.” “Suit yourself. See you, Man Three,” Waylon said as he headed up the stairs. Little Man was speed dialing the super on his cell phone.

2.4

True to Waylon’s prediction, Frank had been sitting in the dark, but not for long before he was visited by the ghostlike visage of a perturbed Grover. “The power is out in the entire building.” announced Grover from the hallway, before Frank had opened the door completely. Frank could only nod in agreement. The power was indeed out, but he recognized Grover’s need to vent. Grover bounded past into the apartment, clenching his fists in anger. Frank stared absently at Grover’s acne scared face and let his distressed neighbor sound off. “It’s the third time this week.” Again Frank could only nod. This is why Grover liked to vent to Frank. He never talked enough to interrupt him or to disagree. “I’ve called Con Edison and the Housing Authority to complain, I hope they finally get off their asses and force Mann to fix the wiring. I haven’t paid this month’s rent yet and I am not going to until the power stops going out, I don’t care if we have to go to court again I am not giving him a dime and I don’t think you should either.” Frank’s rent has already been paid. He had no intention of letting Grover drag him into his ongoing feud with the Manns. Waylon entered from behind, causing Grover to jump. “Hello there Grover, nice to see you. “ Grover scowled at Waylon and did not answer. “So what’s up G Rover?” “The power’s out,” Frank answered for the indignant Grover. Waylon took a moment to look around the apartment. “You know,” said Waylon, “ I do believe you’re right, the power is out.” Grover exaggerated the rolling of eyes. Waylon headed to the fridge where he liberated a beer. He popped the top and drained the can dry in one long gulp. He finished with a loud belch before looking up at the other two staring at him. “What?” He said, “I don’t want them to get warm.” With that expressed, he removed two more cans from the fridge and tossed them unexpectedly at Frank and Grover. Frank managed to catch his but Grover’s hit him in the chest before falling to the floor and spurting foam. Waylon rolled his own eyes as Grover struggled to control the hissing beer can. Grover got the errant beer under control and set it on the counter untouched.

15 “I’m going to call Mann again,” he said to Frank. “Little Mann is downstairs with a crowbar and flashlight,” answered Waylon. “I am sure he’d love to hear from you. I understand you had a talk with his mother the other night.” Grover’s face turned red with repressed rage as he turned quickly to leave. He ran headlong into a tall young man who was coming up the opposite way. Grover bounced back from the impact, then squirmed around angrily before dashing out into the dark hallway. The young man did not even seem to notice him and instinctively caught the beer that Waylon had hurled at his head. “Oh no, I hate having to shave in the dark.” he said. This was Adam was the boarder, or at least that was what Waylon called him. He was tall, good looking and not very bright. He wore the requisite light blue shirt and yellow tie that identified him as a man in high finance. For the past few months he had been sleeping on Waylon and Frank’s couch. “This sucks,” he said, “Today sucked, and now I have to deal with this again. I tell you it really ....” “Sucks?” Waylon offered, “You know you can always try going home to your wife.” “Hell no. Last time I was there Shelly had all these potpourri candles everywhere. They make me sneeze” He took a long sip. “Plus, she’d probably yell at me for something again. Who needs that?” Frank sat on the other end of the couch. “If you didn’t want to live with Shelly, why did you marry her?” asked Waylon from the kitchenette. He was seated on the countertop. Adam’s face wrinkled in deep thought. “I don’t know,” he finally replied, “It seemed really important to her. She kept bugging me about it, so I figured, ‘hey why not?’ We’ll get married and it will shut her up. I had no idea she would get this clingy.” “Marriage does seem to bring that out of people,” said Waylon. “I told her from the start that I needed my space.” “I remember,” Waylon added. “I thought it was real classy the way you mentioned it during your vows.” “You guys want to lay off? I’ve had a tough couple months. I got married for Christ’s sake.” “You’ve got my sympathy.” Adam looked from Waylon to Frank. “Yeah sorry,” said Frank, even though he had little part in the conversation. “It’s cool. Now if I could only get this bastard off.” Adam yanked at the wedding band on his finger. “It’s cutting off my circulation. I told Shelly I hate jewelry. I don’t understand why she expects me to wear this stupid thing.” Waylon hopped up and tossed his empty can into the corner trash bin. “You going out drinking with us?” He asked Adam. “No, I’ve got a date. Might meet up with you later though.” “Cool.”

16 Waylon nodded his head at Frank, who reluctantly pulled himself up to follow Waylon out. He did not explicitly tell Waylon that he would accompany him out on the town. Waylon just assumed, as he usually did, that Frank had nothing better to do. In this case Frank could not think of any reason not to go along. They headed out, leaving Adam alone to shave by the light of a candle.

17 CHAPTER 3

Modeling had been her mother’s idea. Mrs. Silverman hoped it would help Nasya overcome her awkwardness. She talked often of Nasya coming out of her cocoon and discovering that she was a butterfly. In her own over-analysis, Nasya would later compare the experience to being thrown into a lake and almost drowning. Instead of learning how to swim she developed a deep fear of water. For most of her young life Nasya was tall, scrawny, and plain. But as she reached the middle of her teens a great transformation occurred. She suddenly became beautiful. For Nasya it was awful. As a girl Nasya had defined herself by being smart and fiercely independent. She was never shy, and was rarely afraid of anything. Her appearance was never much of a concern for her. It did not seem to be important. As she got older, she realized how much of a concern is was for other people. It would have been different if Nasya was just pretty. The world was filled with pretty girls. But Nasya was something else. A beauty so overpowering it dulled everything around it. It was inescapable, constant, and impossible to ignore. Nasya was not ready for the attention. She did not know how to handle the strangers who stared at her openly when she crossed the street. She noticed a shift in the way people acted around her. They seemed uncomfortable in her presence. It made her paranoid and self conscious. Her mother was delighted with the change. She was filled her with pride each time someone told her how beautiful her youngest daughter was. It gave Mrs. Silverman a great sense of accomplishment to know that she had birthed this elegant creature. It was her great desire to share her success that led to Nasya’s foray into advertising. Nasya got the first job she auditioned for. The photo shoot was relatively painless. It was long and boring. Everyone was too busy with lights and lenses to bother much with Nasya. When they did talk to her, it was short direct instructions on how to stand, which way to look, or where to put her hands. When it was over she didn’t think much of it. It did not help her overcome her awkwardness. The more people noticed Nasya, the more withdrawn she became. Twelve weeks after the initial shoot the advertisements for a new chewing gum for teenagers, started appearing in the subways and in magazines. It was bad timing. Just at the point in her life when Nasya most wanted to disappear, her face started appearing everywhere at once. Nasya never modeled again. Mrs. Silverman begged and pleaded. She tried guilting her, and bribing her, but Nasya refused to step in front of a professional camera lens ever again. It was one of the last acts of her former stubbornness.

18 During her college years she confided in her roommate about her short lived modeling career. To her surprise, the short plump girl responded with awe. She told Nasya that it had always been her greatest dream to be a famous super model. “I always wanted to walk into a crowded room and have everyone know who I was and want to be my friend,” the normally quiet girl told her. Nasya hadn’t known what to say. The idea of being stared at wherever you went sounded horrible to her. She couldn’t comprehend how someone could think otherwise. It was the first time Nasya truly realized how different people are from each other. When she was younger, she had just assumed that everyone was pretty much the same on the inside. It wasn’t true. As Nasya came into contact with more people outside her own sheltered upbringing, she found she had less and less in common with any of them. Nasya wondered how people become the way they are. If their personalities developed as a result of their life experiences or in spite of it. Did they have a choice? Looking at her own life, Nasya questioned whether it was done to her or whether she did it to herself.

3.2

Dr. Cap never said exactly what he meant until long after Nasya was gone. Their relationship had always been close, but confrontational. Of all his children, Nasya was the only one who ever argued back. It was probably why she was his favorite. The rest would listen patiently and then ignore him. But now, Dr. Cap could not seem to talk to her without upsetting her. He was worried about her. Dr. Cap knew something about older men and younger women. He was nineteen years older than Mrs. Silverman. He did not like the Good Doctor, but he would not have liked any older man who was trying to capture his daughter. Dr. Cap knew as well as anyone that older men have pasts. “You see Nasya,” he said to himself. “an older man already has a life. He may want you to join it, but it will continue to be his life. Not one that you can build together. You think he offers security, but it’s not what you need. Ever since you were a child you were always so headstrong. I wanted so much to see what you would do. Old men like me live through their children. I wanted to see you take on the world. I never expected to see you settle.” That is what he should have said. But it was too late. Nasya had gone. He hoped she would not do the opposite of what he said and maybe marry the man. It would not be the first time she had reacted this way. Everyone else in the family fawned over the Good Doctor. His wife especially. His son, the sole inheritor of his successful orthodontic practice, treated the Good Doctor like a sage of wisdom. They were all so impressed with the many gadgets the Good Doctor built, and for the brave way he had overcome his disability. Even Dr. Cap was impressed. Never had he seen a man take so

19 well to the loss of his limbs. But beneath the layers of false modesty and calculated charm, Dr. Cap alone could see the monstrous ego that relished its role as the great victim overcoming all adversary. That’s what Dr. Cap saw in him. It did not seem to bother anyone else that the Good Doctor had modified his extremities to make him several inches taller that he was before his “accident”. And what was his “accident”? It was never actually discussed. Every time someone alluded to it, the Good Doctor changed the subject. Dr. Cap doubted that even Nasya knew the truth. What Dr. Cap could not understand, was why the Good Doctor was so uncharacteristically quiet about it. He normally would have assumed that the Good Doctor would try to milk the tragic story of how he lost his limbs for all it was worth. If only someone was impolite enough to ask him outright.

3.3

Holden House was a national charity that provided terminally ill children with proper care and housing. They were usually attached to large teaching hospitals. Each of the 37 Holden Houses across the nation were modeled after the original in Iowa City, Iowa. They were all the same rambling old farm house with a large porch and inviting rocking chairs. What made the New York city branch unique was that it was built on the roof of the eleven story Manhattan Methodist Hospital. Inside the Holden House was a clean, sterile environment that did not match the rustic exterior. The New York Branch was considered a wing of the hospital but they had built the farmhouse facade to meet the demands of the late Edward Holden, a soap manufacturer, who had started Holden House in 1910 after his son had died of tuberculosis. The Holden Foundation was very strict about the appearance of their facilities. The wanted all Holden Houses to be warm, welcoming environments where children from of all walks of life could come together to die. Volunteering at Holden House had not been her idea. The Good Doctor suggested it. He insinuated that it might be interesting to find out what the nurses and other low-level employees thought of him. She allowed him to arrange it, and went faithfully three times a week. She continued going even after the Good Doctor discovered that the people who worked with terminally ill children never gave him much thought at all. The Good Doctor had since tried to get her transferred, but Nasya was unwilling to leave. Working with hospice care, Nasya had found an unexpected sensation of peacefulness. The tragic suffering of young children was so overpowering that it forced everything else from her mind. All her worries and anxieties became small and unimportant. The Good Doctor had never understood this, and he had never tried. For him, Holden House was a wonderful place to find subjects for new and pioneering surgical procedures. Parents were generally willing to try anything that offered the slimmest chance of putting off the inevitable.

20 Nasya had never felt any particular closeness to the Good Doctor. Not that she did not like him. She supposed that he was a good man. He treated her well, and left her alone most of the time. At the moment, Nasya was happy just to have an empty apartment. She looked around her home, grateful for the Good Doctor’s absence. If he was here and saw her pacing he might have tried to talk to her. And that was the last thing she wanted. Nasya was not angry with her father despite having left the house in a huff. It was the only way she knew how to get away from him. She did not want to answer the questions he had asked of her. It seemed unfair to force her to deal with the issues she most wanted to avoid. However, there is a difference in being left alone, and being alone. Away from the judgment of others she was still left with herself. She fought the urge to visit Holden House on her day off for the dulling bliss of human suffering. Instead she was alone with nagging questions she could not even articulate. How can you tell someone what is wrong if you don’t even know? When Nasya first began having panic attacks, her mothers would attempt to soothe her by saying “There is nothing to worry about.” This made it worse. For if there was nothing to worry about, then Nasya was freaking out over nothing. To Nasya this meant the attacks could come at any time. The fear of panic made her panic. What her father could never understand was the appeal of The Good Doctor. She wasn’t herself around him. She wasn’t anyone. Around the Good Doctor there was not room for anyone else. She made no decisions, she had no opinions. The Good Doctor had given her clothes, jewelry, and security. The relationship pleased her mother immensely. These things didn’t matter to her. The reason she stayed with the Good Doctor was that he insulated her from the world and herself. But it was becoming more clear that it was no longer working. The Good Doctor could not keep away the nagging nameless questions. The blank doubt. What did Nasya want? That was the question that bothered her the most. What do people want? As far as she could tell people wanted what she had already. This did little to pacify her. Nasya heard her father’s voice in her head, “But what do you want to do with yourself?” he had asked. “I don’t know” she said aloud. “What is a person supposed to do? “ Nasya did not like not knowing. She collapsed in the Good Doctor’s Swedish recliner and waited for it all to pass. It always did, just as certainly as it would always come back. It wasn’t so bad as all that. Her mind desperately sought a new subject to occupy it. She found herself an image of the young man from the afternoon, his hands connecting and separating metal rings to the delight of her niece. Anna’s birthday had been a success. She was such a sweet girl. She had loved her presents, but more than anything she had loved the magician.

21 When Nasya first saw Frank standing on her stoop she had not been too impressed. He seemed unremarkable in every regard. There was something about him that seemed like he just wasn't there. But something emerged from him as soon as he began his act. It was almost a total transformation. He went from being a non entity to the center of attention. Nasya had expected the magician to be dressed as a clown or as a cartoonish figure with a large black top hat and a big fake mustache. Frank was merely a young man in a T-shirt and jeans. Yet he could command the children’s attention more than anyone with just a gimmick. His tricks were his gimmick, and he was remarkable. Nasya found herself in the same state of amazement as the children around her. Nasya wondered what it was like to be so good at something. As impressed as she was with Frank during his show, it was immediately afterwards that he astounded her. As soon as the performance was over, that quality that emerged from him quickly vanished and Frank once again became unremarkable. Nasya watched Frank disappear. Not in the literal sense, but she saw him suddenly fade and become one with the background. It was almost supernatural how the attention of everyone in the room just shifted away as if he had pressed some button. The crowds of adults and children starting talking all at once and Frank was just as quickly ignored. She watched how he helped himself to some cake and sat at the end of a table apart from everyone else. He was isolated and alone in this room of strangers, but he didn’t give off any sense of awkwardness. He just looked unconcerned. Nasya had never been able to feel anything like what she imagined Frank felt. He seemed so comfortable with the world around him that he could pass through it completely unnoticed. It had always made her uncomfortable to be around anyone she did not know intimately. Frank’s apparent casualness around perfect strangers made her uncontrollably jealous. Sitting in the Good Doctor’s apartment, Nasya made a decision. She would call Frank and ask him to perform his magic act for the children at the hospice. They would love the diversion, and she could observe Frank and maybe understand how he could so easily vanish in crowded rooms. It made Nasya feel good to make a decision. Her father couldn’t complain: she knew what she wanted. She wanted to disappear.

3.4

Dr. Cap had never told his children about his first wife. Zuzel had only been his wife for just one week, but it had been enough. She was the only daughter of Maria Rivera, his family’s maid and his own sometimes nanny. Zuzel and Dr. Cap were about the same age so Maria would often bring Zuzel along with her whenever she took the young Dr. Cap, to the

22 park or a museum. They were constant companions until Dr. Cap, then known just as Cap, reached the age of fourteen and it was decided that he was too old for a nanny. By this time Zuzel and Cap had become closer than playmates. They would sneak off into Central Park together and spend the whole day sitting atop a large boulder near the boat pond. Even after Maria left the employment of the Silvermans, Zuzel and Cap continued to see each other as much as they could. It was bound to happen, but no one ever suspected until Cap left Columbia University and disappeared. Zuzel and Cap were married by the justice of the peace and spent the next week on a honeymoon at Niagara Falls. Dr. Cap still considered that week to be the greatest of his life. But it all came to an end when the newlyweds returned to find their respective families in an uproar. Cap had expected his family to be upset, but he was surprised by the resistance from his new wife’s large family. They were Catholic, and he was technically a Jew. Cap told Zuzel’s family that he was willing to convert to Catholicism and that he would do anything to keep his wife happy. Her family was not impressed. Zuzel’s angry father forced her to deny their marriage and it was annulled almost immediately. Zuzel was whisked off to the Dominican Republic, and Cap was warned by her brothers that if he ever tried to contact her, they would kill him. Dr. Cap had never gotten over it. Despite the years he still secretly nursed a deep and abiding love for the women who was forced from him. He had not married his present wife until he was forty-two years old, and had given up ever seeing Zuzel Rivera again. Although he had been married for over thirty years, he had never stopped loving his first secret bride. Dr. Cap believed that whatever love there was in his second marriage, it could never match the love he still held for the woman he lost. Dr. Cap believed that a man generally has his first great love before he was twenty five. That experience is often the defining moment in a young man’s life. It makes him who he is. Dr. Cap had felt guilty for most of his second marriage. He did love his wife, but each time he made love to her he felt like he was betraying his first love. And every time he thought about Zuzel he felt like he was betraying his wife.

Dr. Cap did not know the secrets of the Good Doctor’s past. He did know that he never wanted Nasya to be forced to compete with the specter of a former love. Daydreaming of his own lost love dominated most of Dr. Cap’s waking hours. Most of his parallel lives revolved around Zuzel and all the possible futures they could have had together. He imagined everything from their marriage to their death, and everything in between. The distance in time had made it harder for him to visualize her. Her face had become almost a blur. The one photograph he had was lost years ago. He suspected his wife may have found it and destroyed it. It did not matter. The memory of the emotion was more powerful than the memory of anything physical. And Dr. Cap’s daydreams had gone beyond any constraints of reality. The lives

23 he and Zuzel had lived had been vast, varied, and fantastic. But in every scenario Dr. Cap could imagine, there was always Nasya. No matter what new life he invented, he always managed to find someway to include her.

24 CHAPTER 4

For forty years it had been a Ukrainian butcher shop. But as time passed, the ethnic enclaves of lower Manhattan were invaded by youths fleeing the suburbs. The once bustling shop became deserted, and then bankrupt. Within a week of the butcher shop’s closure, its former space was rented to entrepreneurs hoping to transform it into a nightclub. They hacked off the drywall to expose the bricks, and converted the old stainless steel counter into a long cocktail bar. They used as many of the original features of the butcher shop as possible. Customers now sat below oil paintings depicting the different cuts of beef and ate their veggie burgers on the same tables that were once used to make sausages. The old fashioned Ukrainian butcher shop became ‘Meat Market.’ Waylon was fond of the place because it was always crowded, and he never failed to find someone he knew sitting on the red vinyl bar stools. Meat Market was less than a block from the 14th Street subway where commuters could transfer to the New Jersey transit. During happy hour it was always filled with Garden State residents having a few drinks after work before catching their train home. Waylon gave a shout to a group of milling patrons, and a near quarter of the bar’s occupants turned to wave as he walked through the door. Everyone knew Waylon. They ignored Frank. While Waylon headed to the largest knot of people, Frank pushed his way to the bar where he realized that his money was at home beneath his mattress. Frank looked over at Waylon but saw him already deeply engaged in several conversations. A burly young college student, holding four pints of dark beer in his large hands, elbowed his way past Frank . Frank lifted the young man’s wallet from his back pocket in passing. Bars were incredibly easy. Everyone was already pushing up against each other and the alcohol dulled the senses. Frank stuck the wallet in his jacket and ducked into the restroom. There was only one stall and Frank took it, closing the door behind him. He took the precaution of dropping his pants before sitting on the john to count the take. Frank knew that he needn’t bother, but he did not like taking more chances then he needed to. No one had ever caught Frank in the act of theft. The wallet had two hundred dollars in twenties. The college boy must have just hit up an ATM. Frank decided against leaving his calling card. Frank knew it would confuse his mark. There were no photos, only a horrible fake ID and an expired condom. With the expected flush, he exited the stall and saw the same college boy taking a piss at the urinal. Frank brushed by him on the way to the sink, slipping the wallet back into its original pocket. The college boy glanced over but Frank gave him a dirty look. The college boy quickly looked away while Frank washed his hands. It was social conditioning, it was just as rude to stare at someone in the bathroom as it was to bump into someone taking a piss.

25 Waylon did not seem to have noticed Frank’s absence. He was talking animatedly with two young women in office garb. Frank took a stool at the fringe of the group. Waylon had rolled up his shirtsleeve and was showing them an ugly scar on his upper arm. “I got this one at the Battle of Williamsburg back in the nineties.” “Where was that?” the taller of the two asked innocently. “In Williamsburg obviously,” answered Waylon. “Brooklyn?” the shorter one asked. Waylon nodded. “When was there a battle in Brooklyn?” Waylon groaned. “Did you hear anything I just said? This scar I got at the Battle of Williamsburg back in the nineties. Do you want to hear the story or not?” “Sorry,” said the taller girl. “It’s just that we’ve never heard of the Battle of Williamsburg.” “We live in Hoboken.,” said the shorter. Waylon sighed. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It was really more of a rumble than a battle.” “So how did you get the scar?” the shorter asked. “I was hit by the lid of a metal trash can hurled by the Yuppie King himself. It sliced into my shoulder right there.” The two girls erupted in laughter. “The Yuppie King?” said the taller unbelieving. “You Jersey Girls don’t know anything. The Yuppie King! The toughest young urban professional in the city!” The two girls shook their heads and stifled their laughter. Waylon continued. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll start at the beginning. I was living at the time above my Uncle Pawel’s bakery on Bedford. At that time North Williamsburg was predominately immigrant, mostly Poles and Italians, with some Orthodox Jews sprinkled in. But more and more Manhattanites were moving in. Artists and hipsters were leaving lower Manhattan in droves and taking up residences in the abandoned factories and turning them into loft apartments.” “I went to a party in a loft once.” interrupted the shorter. “It was awesome. I think it used to be a warehouse for like refrigerator parts.” “Shut up, Holly,” said the taller. “Holly made a face at her friend before turning back to Waylon. “At first the old-timers didn’t mind the influx of new blood. They were converting the old buildings that hadn’t been occupied in years and making them livable again. They spent money in all the local businesses. It was an era of good feelings all around. Unfortunately, it didn’t last very long. The hipsters and the artists starting taking over buildings that had housed immigrant families for decades. Old folks and young families were being forced out of the neighborhood. Then the newcomers started opening their own restaurants and stores, cutting out the local merchants. The new arrivals weren’t interested in perogis and kielbasa. They wanted goat cheese and tofu.

26 “Well, there came a point when the old-timers decided that enough was enough. Young hotheads from the Polish, Italian, and Jewish communities met together at my uncle’s bakery and decided to drive the artists and hipsters out of Williamsburg once and for all. What followed was a lot of minor skirmishes between old-timers and newcomers, mostly just letting the recently arrived know that they were not welcome.” Frank began dancing a quarter across his knuckles. He had heard the story before with many variations. The two girls obviously hadn’t and Waylon had them hooked. “As it so happens, this wasn’t the first time that these artists and hipsters had been forced to leave their homes. When the East Village and the Lower East Side were being gobbled up by developers who were tearing down all the old squats and building big glass walled condominiums, these oppressed Bohemians had been driven off the island like rats. In Williamsburg, they found a new promised land of vast empty loft space to house their experimental dance troupes and independent recording studios. They planned to build their Bohemian paradise and weren’t going to give up their dream without a fight. So when the natives united against them, the artists and the hipsters met their challenge and agreed to a rumble to determine who controlled the destiny of Billburg. “Now, I have always been a pacifist, but the pressure of my Polish cousins was too much. I found myself marching with the rest of them to meet the insurgent artisans and fashionables underneath the Williamsburg Bridge.” The quarter had paused midway between Frank’s second and third knuckle. he had let himself be drawn in. The same thing was happening to other patrons seated close. Two middle-aged men in blue blazers had stopped their conversation and were busy eavesdropping on Waylon’s story. “We were evenly matched at first. They may have had a few more men on their side, but it hardly mattered. As determined as they were, they just weren’t tough enough. A young kid who spends his time spinning records or designing shoes has no chance against a Polish construction worker or a Jewish plumber. They put up a fight, I will give them that. But within minutes we had them at the verge of being routed. “But the fight wasn’t over. Just as the old guard were beginning to feel victorious, a new mass of men joined the fight. They hit us hard from behind and we soon found ourselves stuck between two hostile gangs. “At first, we thought that they had split their forces in two and drawn us into a trap, but it soon became apparent that the horde of young men that fell on us from behind were an entirely new gang. You see, the hipsters knew they weren’t strong enough to beat us, so without the knowledge of the artists, they made a deal with the devil. The men who had outflanked us were yuppies, and at their head was the Yuppie King. “The Yuppie King stood near seven feet tall towering over the rest of us in his Gap khakis and a yellow Polo shirt strained across his mighty chest. His hair was blond and wavy and his eyes were a piercing blue. With a loud bellow this Aryan giant charged into our ranks followed by his army of chino-clad warriors.

27 “I could only stand and stare as they came at us like a wave, but I was snapped out of my daze when the Yuppie King hurled the lid of a trash can like a discus straight for my head. I managed to deflect it with my arm but the force of his throw knocked me off my feet. I just had time to stand before they were among us.” The two men in blazers no longer pretended not to be listening. They both swiveled on the barstools facing Waylon who nodded in recognition of a wider audience. “It was a long and fierce fight, but in the end we could not defeat the combined forces of the three invading clans. Their numbers were too great. We had no choice but to flee, leaving them with the field of battle and victory. “Williamsburg was theirs. The Poles found refuge with their kinfolk in Green Point, the Italians to Carroll Gardens and Bensonherst. The Jews were forced south toward the border of Clinton Hill. For the artists and hipsters, their victory was a hollow one. For whatever they gained by defeating the older inhabitants, they soon lost when the yuppies came. The tiny clothing boutiques were replaced by Old Navy chain stores and the quaint little coffee shops were swallowed whole by Starbucks. The hipsters adapted well enough, for at heart there is little difference between them and the Yuppies. But the artists, who were betrayed by the hipsters, suffered. Their Bohemian dreams were crushed as the Yuppies bought everything in sight leaving them no choice but to once again abandon their homes and go off in search of a new neighborhood to build their paradise.” Waylon took a long drink from his beer to signify the end of his story. The two men in blazers returned to their beers. Frank resumed dancing the quarter over the tops of his fingers. “That is so sad,” said Holly the shorter. “It’s starting to happen to Hoboken too,” added the taller. “It’s happening everywhere,” Waylon replied. “In Montana, my grandparents’ old family farm is now a golf course.” “Where did the artists go after Williamsburg?” asked Holly. “Oh some are still there, some went east to Bushwick, or North to Astoria in Queens. I’ve heard about them showing up in the Bronx and Harlem. It’s hard to say where the next big neighborhood will be. The city is always in a state of flux. Everything is always changing. It is part of what draws so many people here I guess. But you can’t get too attached to any particular incarnation of it because it is not going to last. I find you just have to appreciate it as a whole, and accept it as it is without expectation.” “Wow,” said Holly. “That’s true.” At that moment the majority of the patrons at Meat Bar stood up in unison and gathered their coats and briefcases. The two young women looked down at their watches. “Oh, we have to catch our train,” said the taller. “It was nice talking to you. Give me a call, OK.” “I don’t much care for phones,” Waylon answered. “Maybe I’ll stop by your office sometime and we can go to lunch.”

28 “I’d like that.” He kissed the tall girl on the cheek and turned his attention to the short one and kissed her as well. “Nice to meet you. I am sure I’ll see you around.” She smiled, suddenly shy. Waylon watched the two of them leave with the crowd of train riders. Frank and Waylon were now virtually alone in what had been a packed room. Waylon looked over at Frank as if he hadn’t noticed him before. “There you are. Thought you might have disappeared, what being a magician and all. Oh yeah how’d the bar mitzvah go?” “It was a birthday, and it went all right.” “Good. Does that mean you float me some drinking money?” Frank laid two newly acquired twenties on the bar. Waylon quickly pocketed them. “Why do you lie to women?” Frank asked him. “I am not a liar,” answered Waylon immediately. “I am a story teller. I tell stories to amuse people and sometimes a story has to be tweaked so it can amuse even more.” “Sure. But a Yuppie King?” “What? Everyone knows about the Yuppie King.” “No. Everyone that knows you knows about the Yuppie King because you like telling them about him. It sounds to me like you just got drunk one day and got into a fight with a guy in a yellow shirt.” Waylon laughed. “Be that as it may.” “And lunch? Do you even know her name?” Waylon’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember. “I have always been too considerate of a woman’s feelings to ever be completely honest with her. Besides I do know where she works.” Waylon’s mouth broke into a large smile. “Now let’s go someplace else.” Frank paid the tab, and left a generous tip. Waylon waved goodbye to the bar staff as the two exited. “You’re not even Polish.”

4.2

For Grover, the constant power outages were more than a slight annoyance; they were a cataclysmic sundering of the world he existed in. They also meant a loss of livelihood. Grover was the owner/operator of a popular web site that catalogued trivia on television shows and allowed its users to gossip, bitch, and celebrate their favorite programs in its forums. The money from advertising, and the monthly stipend from his father were just enough to keep up Grover’s rent and his daily ration of Hot Pockets and children’s cereals. In spite of his diet, Grover was incredibly skinny. He had longish greasy hair, and always wore the same dirty jeans. He prided himself on his wide collection of t-shirts advertising television shows from the seventies and eighties.

29 Television was extremely important to Grover. All his life television had been the one thing that connected him to other people. As a child, Grover had been very sickly and spent weeks bedridden. It was television that reminded him that a world existed outside his small room. It made him feel included to know that at the same time each day, he engaged in the same activity as all the other kids. When he was healthy enough to attend school, he was still too shy to interact with the other children. Television became his way of socializing with others. Coming home from class each day to the same programs gave him a sense of belonging. With the advent of the internet, Grover found a new reason not to leave the confines of his home. The new technology allowed him to connect with people all over the world. His awkwardness and timidness were much easier to hide when facing a computer screen instead of an actual person. Online, he found many like him; lonely hermits who relished the opportunity for shared experiences without having to face other human beings. Grover's childhood love of television evolved into his current obsession of all electronic media. Whether it was television, radio, or the internet, Grover felt a constant and compulsive need to ingest as much as he could. If it weren’t for the power outages, Grover’s three televisions would have been running continually twenty-four hours a day. He was constantly online discussing various subjects with like-minded people, always being exposed to new music and new opinions. He had hundreds of close friendships with people whom he had never met, and thousand of instant messenger buddies who recognized Grov6 when it sprang up on message boards. People from around the planet had read his opinions on “Saved by the Bell” or “Deep Space Nine.” Grover was deeply satisfied by the fullness of his virtual life. At any given time he could be connected to countless others, and although he never left his apartment, he was never alone or bored. When the power was cut off he was cut out. It was like he had suddenly lost his ability to speak. He felt isolated and claustrophobic in a world that was suddenly much smaller. Young Mann exasperated Grover. When the power went out and Grover managed to corner Young Mann outside his store (which ran on a different circuit so never lost power), Young Mann would just shake his head and offer him candles. His son, Little Mann, was worse. He always tried to turn the power outages onto Grover, insinuating that if he didn’t have his televisions on at the same time as his computer, there would never be any power problems. There was not much Grover could do that he had not done already. He had taken his landlord to court three times winning an abatement each time and an order for Young Mann to make repairs. The repairs rarely lasted more than a month before Young Mann’s shoddy quick fixes gave out. Grover had been forced to rely on his emergency supplies, which consisted of a small hand-held TV and a laptop with extra batteries and a wireless connection that could pick up the internet cafe down the street. That night, Grover was forced again to sit in the dark watching the tiny black screen on his mini television while typing away at his ibook. While others enjoyed the nightlife of the city, Grover traded tirades with Swiss teenagers on

30 how the networks screwed over a one-season wonder forcing them to find a home in cable. He ate his Hot Pockets cold, (no microwave), drank his Dr. Pepper warm, and impatiently waited for Little Mann to find the super who was the only one who knew how to fix the antiquated fuse box.

4.3

“It would be early if it weren’t so late,” exclaimed Waylon while balancing on a fire hydrant. Waylon and Frank had been out hopping from one bar to the next. They decided to order a Sidecar in every bar in the East Village to test the bartenders’ knowledge. They ran into Adam who promptly ditched his date and joined in the revelry. During the course of the night they exhausted their taste for lemon juice and began asking for more and more obscure drinks until they found themselves sipping concoctions with names like Blue Donkey and Rabid Schoolteacher. The last bar had kicked them out and the sun was coming up over the East River. Somehow they have found themselves in Old Germantown. The drinking party had dwindled to the two roommates and their lodger. Adam occasionally lived in the neighborhood when he was able to spend a night at home with his wife. The night had become the morning and Waylon was filled with energy. He leapfrogged the parking meters while Frank and Adam trudged slowly behind. All around them, the streets were waking up. Hot dog and donut venders were setting up their carts. Deli workers were hosing off their sidewalks. The night doormen were waking up for the end of their shifts and letting the nannies who spent the night with their boyfriends sneak back in. The nine to fivers were not out yet, but they were awake because the smell of coffee and the steam from showers wafted from every window. “That reminds me,” Waylon commented to no one in particular, “I think I’m due for an eye opener, or an eye closer as the circumstances may merit.” “It’s morning.” groaned Adam, “The bars are all closed.” Waylon turned and gave them a wicked grin. “I know a place.” “ I have to work in...” Adam checked his watch. “...two hours. I think I’ll go by home and see the wife. Maybe take a shower and change.” Waylon was incredulous. “Oh, I see,” he said. “Seeing the wife is suddenly more important than spending time with your best friends in the world.” “I haven’t seen her in over a week. It might be good to check in.” “You pussy-whipped bastard!” retorted Waylon. “Come have one more drink with us and then you can go straight to work from the bar “ “No,” answered Adam slowly as if with great effort. “I want a shower, I might be up for grabbing some food if you want though.” Waylon dismissed him with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Just go home to your wife. Who needs you?”

31 They made their goodbyes. Adam walked alone back the way they had come to the one bedroom apartment he sometimes shared with his wife. He had already decided to call in sick and go straight to bed. “Just you and me now, stud.” said Waylon turning his attention to Frank. Frank was just as tired as Adam, but he knew that he did not have an excuse that Waylon would accept. He knew he was going but he still made a vain attempt to get out of it. “I don’t know. Most places are closed.” “I know a place.” answered Waylon with such an air of self-assurance that Frank could only lower his head and give in to the inevitable. Waylon and Frank had fallen into a silent march. They said nothing to each other until they left Germantown and began walking past the mansions on the Upper East Side. Frank was dozing off as he walked. Waylon had a look of steely resolve on his face. His eyes flicked back and forth scouring each doorway intently. “Where is this place?” Frank said with a yawn. “I don’t know yet,” answered Waylon without taking his eyes off the passing doors. “Waylon, I’m tired. I want to go home.” “Hold your horses. We’ll be there soon.” Frank prepared to complain again but Waylon stopped short, turned a circle and smiled. “There we are.” He pointed to a battered brown door nestled between two flamboyant limestone townhouses. On the door the letters “SAS” had been scratched roughly into the wood. With a flourish, Waylon swung open the door and beckoned Frank inside. Frank paused and gave the entryway a bewildered look before stepping through. He was positive that the door had not been there a second ago. Past the doorway, and down a flight of stairs Waylon and Frank found themselves in a dark, smoky wood-paneled cave of a bar. It was populated by a diverse crowd of mostly older men and women. They all seemed to be there alone. Few were talking. Most sat quietly with their eyes on their glasses. Nobody looked up when they entered. “What is this place?” asked Frank. “Sam’s Anarchist Saloon,” answered Waylon as he saddled up to the bar. “The best place to get a drink when you’re hard up throughout the five boroughs to the lost neighborhood of Aden Park.” Frank took in the place. It looked old and dirty. The walls were covered with old black and white pictures of stern men and women, but they were hard to see through the dust. The customers were as dim and obscured as their surroundings. Many wore outdated clothing and appeared like they could be covered with dust as well. Waylon took the liberty of ordering two bourbon Manhattans from the silent bartender. He politely waited for Frank to pay before he began to talk. “What do you think?” Waylon finally asked.

32 “How did you find this place?” Waylon’s mouth twitched in his devilish grin. “Funny thing, that,” he said. “The first time I found it, it was in Tribeca.” Frank offered a confused look in place of a comment. “I was down there early Sunday morning showing this old guy a two bedroom on Franklin. The old guy took a shine to one, so I was looking at a pretty big commission. Afterwards, I felt the need for a liquid reward to celebrate my good fortune.” Frank nodded. So far it all sounded feasible, but he waited expectantly for the bullshit he knew was coming. “It’s like six in the morning and I can’t find a bar or even a liquor store that’s open because of the stupid blue laws. Rationally, I knew I’d probably have to wait until noon like everyone else, but in my mind this was just not an option. I was determined to have that drink. So, I kept going, walking up Varick cursing at every locked up bar or restaurant. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a little door next to a bakery with the initials “SAS” scratched into it. I was curious. As I passed by I gave the handle a little tug to see if it was locked. It wasn’t, and to my utmost delight I heard the friendly bustle of a tavern. So I went down the stairs and found myself here.” “So it’s a chain?” Frank asked, feeling like he missed something. “Nope. There’s only one Sam’s Anarchist Saloon,” answered Waylon, waiting patiently for Frank to get what he had just told him. “But we are in the Upper East Side and that was in Tribeca.” “I know, pretty weird huh?” Frank was drunk enough not be skeptical. “You know what else? Ever since that day whenever I’m particularly thirsty and some event or regulation is keeping me from being refreshed, I come across a door with the SAS mark. I’ve stumbled across the good ol’ SAS all over. Soho, Washington Heights, Green Point, Flushing, even once next to a gas station in Staten Island. All over, and it’s always the same bar.” Frank gave a low whistle. “Quite a place.” Waylon flashed his largest smile. ”You’ll see, someday, when you’re not even thinking about it, you’re going to see SAS scratched on a door and be happy you did.” “You are probably right,” Frank answered. He was impressed with the story, but even as drunk as he was, he did not believe it. “Salud,” said Frank. They toasted and finished the last of their drinks. It was apparent that even Waylon was exhausted. With their glasses empty, they both got to their feet and headed to the door without saying a word to each other. As they stepped outside the bar, Frank realized that they were no longer in Germantown but in Chinatown not a block from their home. He glanced at Waylon who seemed completely undeterred by the sudden shift of neighborhoods. Looking back, Frank saw that the door they had just exited was

33 now locked and lacked the scratched initials. Waylon was not completely full of shit. The power was back on at the apartment but Waylon and Frank did not notice. They made straight lines to their respective beds, neither bothering to close the front door or turn off any of the lights.

34 CHAPTER 5

A sudden brightness from outside the bedroom window forced Frank to open his eyes. It was dusk, and the streetlights had just turned on. Frank’s body was sore as if he had run several miles. Luckily the hangover that he had feared had long been slept off. It was a waste of a day. He looked at his alarm clock, but the normally bright LED face was blank. It took him a slow moment to realize that all the other lights were out as well. The power had gone off again while he was asleep. Even if he had set the alarm clock it would not have made a difference. He took a shower in the pitch-black bathroom. There was no window, so he had to rely on touch to find the soap and smell to determine the shampoo from the conditioner. He felt like a loser. An entire day had passed while he lay in bed, and now he could not think of anything to do before he went to bed again. It was too late for him to go to work. All the commuters would be back in New Jersey and the only people at Penn Station would be derelicts. “Waylon!” yelled Frank through the crack in door, “What are you doing today?” There was no answer. Frank was either alone or Waylon was in too big of a stupor to answer. He opened the door and peeked into Waylon’s room. It was empty. Frank would have to figure out how to spend his time on his own. With the power out, there was not much he could do around the apartment. He would have to go out. He dressed in the dark, trying to make out his reflection in the large mirror that hung on the inside of his bedroom door. He could only make out a silhouette of himself, backlit faintly by the glow from his blinded window. In the living room, he noticed a large kitchen knife had been stabbed into the front door. A small white piece of paper was pinned beneath the blade. He casually pulled the cleaver out of the door and caught the note before it fell. It read: Some girl called. I think she said her name was Nausea, but I am probably wrong. Frank could not imagine who “Nausea” was, or why she was calling him. He had a fleeting moment of paranoia where he suspected that maybe he had done something wrong. He thought back over the last couple of weeks and tried to determine who “Nausea” might be. It was fruitless. The only way to know the identity of the caller was to call them back. Unfortunately, the apartment phone was cordless, inoperable with the power out. He walked outside to the public telephone that was across the street. He rifled through his pockets but could not find any change. He decided against calling the mysterious “Nausea” collect. An unwelcome odor wafted up from the semi enclosure and He was reminded of the habit of young men to use pay phones as urinals during pub-crawls. Waylon often suggested the prevalence of cell phones had rendered the corner telephone good for little else but a place to

35 discretely piss. But Frank did not have a cell phone, just as he did not have a credit card, a driver’s license, or even a watch. Luckily, the young Asian student who walked past him did not share his Spartan lifestyle. Frank artfully and unobtrusively unclipped the young man’s cell phone from his belt. He walked in step behind his mark trying to figure out how to navigate the phone’s numerous options. Frank put his call through and got an answering machine. It was a man’s voice. Frank forgot what he was doing and let several seconds go by before he remembered to leave a message. “Hello, this is Frank Tivney,” he said. “I have a note here saying someone from this number called me, so I am returning that call. The power is out in my building so the phone and the answering machine don’t work. But it should be back on sometime later, depending on how the super feels about it.” He was cut off by a beep. He disconnected and quickened his pace to catch up to the Asian student. As he leaned forward to clip the phone back on the student’s belt, it rang loudly with the theme song of an early Zelda game. The Asian student turned to see Frank holding his phone. “Sorry, you dropped this about half a block back.” The Asian student looked dubious at first, but quickly smiled and thanked Frank as he took back his phone. Frank walked away as the student entered into a conversation with his caller. Frank felt better about himself now. It was funny how one simple act could salvage a day. By accomplishing the small task of returning a phone call, he felt less like a loser. Now he had the rest of the night to himself. He did not feel like going back to his apartment, so Frank did what he always did when he could not decide what to with himself. He went for a walk.

5.2

Nasya was there when Frank returned her call, but she did not answer. She never answered the telephone. She preferred to listen to someone leaving a message than to talk with them. She hated talking on the phone. Even when she was a teenager and all the other girls would chat for hours, Nasya could never stand to hold the receiver to her ear for longer than five minutes. The phone was a major annoyance to Nasya. She hated being compelled to answer it every time it rung. It made her feel like a trained animal. But more than that, she had never been comfortable talking to someone she could not see. It bothered her to think that the person on the other end of the phone might be making fun of her. Nasya avoided telephone conversation as much as she could. She only called her friends or her parents when she knew they would not be there. She preferred messages. They were short and to the point. Nasya figured some 99% of a phone conversation was idle chatter. An answering machine forced callers to edit themselves and say only what they could in the time allotted. By the same

36 logic, when Nasya left a message, she only had to say what she needed to without being drawn into gossip, or small talk. It was a constant source of frustration to the Good Doctor that Nasya would not take his calls. He had purchased dozens of stylish and modern cell phones for her, but she refused to carry them or even to turn them on. For Nasya it was bad enough to be forced to deal with a phone in her home, she could not imagine having one with her wherever she went. The Good Doctor knew that someday he would have to break Nasya’s aversion to the telephone, but until then he had decided magnanimously to accept it as another of Nasya’s many foibles. Now, when he called home, the Good Doctor would leave his message as if Nasya was in the room listening. She almost always was. When Nasya first called Frank she had written out two versions of what she planned to say. One was if Frank answered the phone and another was if a machine answered. She had hoped for the machine. The version for Frank had too many variables. She had tried to map out responses to questions she expected Frank to ask but a clear, concise message would have been a lot easier. Nasya had not anticipated that someone other than Frank would answer the phone. Her first impulse was to immediately hang up. Somehow she forced herself to continue. “Hello this is Nasya, may I speak to Frank Tivney,” she said. “Sorry,” the voice answered. ”Frank is out cold, but I could give him a kick if it’s important. Please let me give him a kick.” Nasya was confused. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond. Should she laugh? “No, I’ll call back,” she said before quickly hanging up the phone. Waylon who had answered the phone was as confused by Nasya’s response as she was with his. He had surely misunderstood her name. Why would someone call themselves Nausea? Still, Waylon dutifully wrote down the name he thought he heard as well as the phone number from the caller ID. He stuck the note to the front door with the large kitchen knife. As Frank left his message on Nasya’s machine, she held her breath, unconsciously thinking that he would hear her and know she was there. She was surprised that he called because she had not left a number. Nasya worried that she had made a mistake by calling him. “No,” she told herself firmly. “It’s OK. It’s just a message. I will call back later.” Nasya would call back. The impulse to see Frank again had gotten stronger. It was something she needed to do. Nasya knew that her father believed she was afraid of the future. He was half right. She was uncertain and anxious about her future, but it was the present she was most afraid of. The future could be planned and prepared for. The past could be remembered or forgotten. But the present had to be lived. And that’s what Nasya was afraid of. It was living that gave her the most difficulty. There were too many choices. Nasya was easily daunted. Even the most mundane decisions could

37 overcome her. So she went to great lengths to avoid making them. When Nasya went shopping, the Good Doctor provided her with a detailed list from which she never deviated. He also decided where and when they would eat out, and often what Nasya should wear. Nasya hated the control the Good Doctor exercised over her, but at the same time she was strangely grateful for it. That’s why calling Frank was so important. Nasya did not know if he could help her. She did not know if he would even want to. Yet she was determined not to think about it. She was determined just to do it.

5.3

His aimless walking had taken Frank to the middle of Times Square. The night was surprisingly warm and the streets were crowded with people staring upward at the bright neon as they stumbled over curbs. Frank usually did not bother with tourists. They were often good for a couple hundred dollars, but he did not like the guilt of possibly ruining someone’s vacation. When he robbed a local, the distressed party could chalk it up to bad luck and go visit an ATM, but with a tourist there was a chance that he was taking away their entire bankroll for a week. But this particular night, Frank felt like working the crowds. Most tourists were easy pickings. They kept their wallets in their back pockets and their noses buried in maps or guidebooks. As a pickpocket virtuoso, Frank generally preferred to avoid the easy marks and go after only those out-of- towners that displayed signs of Gotham Paranoia. To these tourists, New York was a scary, bad place where a decent person needed to be eternally vigilant against the dangerous criminals that inhabited the city. These visitors carried pepper spray on their key chains and kept their driver licenses, and credit cards in money belts concealed beneath their clothes. They jumped when other people came too close and squinted suspiciously at anyone who might look like a minority. Most pickpockets avoided these tourists. They were the type that would chase thieves down the street and blind them with mace. Even to Frank their defensive composure made them difficult to steal from, but he enjoyed the challenge. Frank walked along Broadway with his coat draped over his arm. He took care to keep his gaze upward on the neon advertisements and brightly lit buildings. Frank wanted to appear like one of them. He weaved though the crowd, occasionally brushing up against other pedestrians. Under the cover of his jacket, his quick hands plucked maps from pockets, and souvenirs from swinging shopping bags. He took nothing expensive, just a little something to mess with their minds. It was not difficult to see why he was so good at what he did. He had two of the most skilled hands a person could hope for. His long, thin fingers were both graceful and perceptive. Frank was ambidextrous. He could navigate the

38 folds of clothing or the seam of a coat pocket effortless from either side. These hands could have been used to play the piano or perform brain surgery. But it was not his magician hands that made him the self-proclaimed world’s greatest pickpocket. The key to Frank’s success was his face. It was devoid of any distinguishing features. His nose was not small or large, nor his chin. His cheekbones were not prominent, nor were they hidden. His eyes changed color depending on the light. They could be brown, hazel, green and even gray. His hair was that indistinguishable shade between brown and blonde that the stylist call “dirty blonde.” Frank looked like everybody else and yet like no one in particular. His face was one that you forgot just as soon as it passed from sight, and sometimes before. It was this face that let him move so easily through the crowds. It had the ability the blend in wherever he was. Nobody saw him when he was there. And no one missed him when he was gone. Frank could disappear in a crowd of two. The tourists would eventually discover their missing tokens, but none of them would ever remember Frank. If they saw him again, they would never be able to identify him as the culprit, even if they had caught him in the act. Several hours later he retreated from Times Square and was in his usual territory around Penn Station and Madison Square Gardens. He lifted a few pockets there more out of habit than necessity. He always made sure to leave his card. It may have seemed foolish to link himself to a crime, but Frank was proud of what he could do, and the card was a way for him to get a little recognition. The business establishments all around Penn Station were accustomed to patrons pulling out white business cards from their wallets in place of cash. Mr. Nguen, the proprietor of Happy Luck Deli on 33rd street, would even exchange a croissant and a cup of coffee for the card found in the unfortunate's pocket. He pinned them up on a bulletin board with a Polaroid of the victim. It became quite an attraction. After Mr. Nguen’s display got some attention in the local press, the police began to give some attention to F.T. and his exploits. They set up a task force and called it Operation Mousetrap. But they never caught a mouse and replacing the stolen cheese became more and more expensive. In the few months of the task force’s existence, the police never came close to catching Frank in the act. But several undercover officers did have their wallets and badges mysteriously disappear. The task force was dissolved quietly and F.T., The World’s Greatest Pickpocket, continued to molest the mornings of hardworking men and women from New York’s vast web of suburbs. The police who worked Penn Station were happy to abandon the search. They dedicated themselves to crimes they might actually be able to solve and let F.T. go about his daily rounds undisturbed. Besides, he only took a little cash, and whatever photos they may have been carrying around. Credit cards, gum wrappers, business cards, receipts, and condoms were all returned to their original owners. No one ever lost enough to get too upset.

39 5.4

Adam was an aberration. He had risen quickly up the ranks of his investment firm employer by being incompetent, lazy, and by showing no initiative. These qualities that usually lead to early termination made Adam a stand out among his peers. Whatever the task, Adam put in the least amount of effort possible and never did anything that he was not explicitly told to do. No one had reason to be cross with him because he followed instructions mindlessly and never questioned his superiors. He was so clueless and good-natured that his coworkers unconsciously and cheerfully covered for him. Instead of wallowing in a low-level position as his skills merited, Adam kept getting promoted. The company executives seemed to be on the lookout for young up and comers who did what they were told, and didn’t outshine their boss. However, many of the midlevel bosses who promoted Adam because he was non-threatening, found themselves passed over, as Adam’s skill at being mediocre at his job was in high demand further up the ladder. Currently, Adam was an acting supervisor of some sort. A couple of times a week, his boss would send him a memo detailing what he was expected to accomplish. Adam had his secretary forward it to his underlings. They got the work done, and Adam was able to focus his attention on the X box he kept in his corner office. The mixture of stupidity and short attention span that so helped in Adam’s professional life was wreaking havoc in his personal life. Adam had gotten married. His new wife, Shelly was a nice girl who loved and cared for him, but Adam had never been one to domesticate. They had been going out for a long time when she decided it was time for them to make it official. Adam had no inclination to propose, but Shelly was so adamant about it that Adam finally relented. He figured it would be easier to give in, and that once Shelly got her ring, things would go back to normal. It didn’t work out that way. Marriage had only made Shelly more demanding, leading Adam to flee and hide-out on Frank and Waylon’s couch. Frank found him seated in his usual spot when he returned from his evening walk. Adam was uncharacteristically surly. “Some girl called,” Adam snarled. “Didn’t leave a message.” “What’s with you?” asked Frank. “It’s Shelly,” answered Adam. “ She wants a divorce.” Frank was not sure how to respond, but Adam was oddly bothered. “And you’re surprised?” Frank asked. “Yes I am,” said Adam. “She bugged me for months to get married and then I finally do what she wants and now she doesn’t want it anymore. It doesn’t make any sense.” “Well maybe she needs her space too.” Frank offered. “Yeah probably,” mumbled Adam. “I don’t care so much about it really, I just don’t want to give her half my stuff.” Frank was relieved. Adam was not really upset, just confused. “Yeah well, you can probably get half of her stuff too.”

40 That perked Adam up a bit. “I didn’t think of that, she’s got this blender from an infomercial that can grind up wood chips into sawdust.” “That would come in handy.” “We could make some margaritas,” said Adam. “Do we have any tequila?” “You’d have to ask Waylon, but I am sure we do.” Waylon was very proud of his liquor collection and had never been asked to provide a drink he couldn’t make with the ingredients on hand. “Do you think I need to get a lawyer?” “Probably not. I don’t think there will be much to argue about.” “Still though,” Adam continued. “I have every Jets playoff game on tape for like fifteen years, and I am not giving her half of them. That’s just stupid.” “Did you have them before you got married?” “I’ve been taping them since I was a kid.” “Then they’re prior property.” “What?’ “It means that you brought them into the marriage, so you can bring them out afterward. Only the stuff you purchased during the marriage has to be split up.” This was the extent of Frank’s limited legal knowledge. It was enough for Adam, whose mood had rapidly improved. “That’s cool,” said Adam, “I won’t have to give her my signed Curtis Martin jersey.” “Lucky you.” “You know what? That means I won’t get the blender. She had that before we got married.” “I am sure she’ll let you borrow it.” Adam thought on that but was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He answered and handed the phone over to Frank. “Feryu,” he said. Frank captured it deftly and walked into his room for a little privacy. He recognized the voice on the other end. “Oh you’re Nasya! That explains it.” “Yes,” Nasya answered him. “I didn’t know who you were, but you’re the aunt,” said Frank. “I am the aunt.” “Was everything ok?” “Oh yes it was all very... good.” “Good.” “I work at at Holden House, well I volunteer there anyway. It’s the little farm house on top of the Manhattan Methodist Hospital. I work with terminal cases, you know, kids who can never leave their rooms. I’m there three days a week, and I thought they would enjoy you coming in and showing them some magic.” “Sure,” answered Frank “When do you want me?” “We would not be able to pay you.”

41 “I’ll swing by tomorrow at ten or so.” Frank was almost as bad on the phone as Nasya. He was polite but curt. His quick response threw Nasya off . “I can buy you lunch at the cafeteria,” she said. “Sounds good,” answered Frank. “See you tomorrow.” Frank hung up while Nasya fumbled for a reply. He wrote a note on the wall next to the door to remind himself about the next day’s performance. Frank liked the idea of performing for sick kids. It made him feel like a good person. Frank threw the stolen junk from his walkabout in Times Square onto his bed. He had three rolls of film, a souvenir mug, six miniature statues of liberties, two Big Apple magnets, four subway maps and three guidebooks. Frank took the single’s guide to New York out of the pile. He went back into the living room and dropped it on Adam’s chest. “Figure you’ll be able to use this now,” said Frank. “Hey thanks.” “Where’s Waylon?” “Roof.” Frank headed up the stairs pausing by Grover’s door to hear the sounds of three conflicting televisions.

5.5

Waylon chucked a beer bottle at him as soon as Frank opened the door to the roof. It glanced off his wrist and fell to the ground clattering. The bottle did not break, but when Frank opened it, the contents gushed forth in a foam explosion leaving him a third of a beer left to drink. “Whose Nausea?” Waylon demanded. “It’s Nasya,” answered Frank. “She wants to take me to lunch at a hospital cafeteria.” “Sweet,” Waylon exclaimed. Waylon was drunk. This was not unusual, but he was more drunk than usual. He was reclining on a broken beach chair and balancing a beer bottle on his head with his eyes closed. After a few moments, he forgot what he was doing and the bottle fell forward, spilling beer all over his shirt before he managed to right it. “This beer’s no good,” complained Waylon. He heaved the bottle over the side of the roof where it landed with a shatter six stories below. “Should have gotten that good Mexican beer we had the other night. That never would have jumped off my head,” said Waylon, while searching in his cooler for a replacement for the bottle he just threw. Frank watched a flashing red dot of light transverse the night sky. It was a plane flying out of JFK or LaGuardia. He followed it until it reaches the light pollution near the horizon. There were several more blinking red lights passing overhead. Even the stratosphere of New York was crowded. Frank took his own

42 beer bottle and launched it as far as he could. It flew over the roofs on their block, shattering on the top level of a parking garage. Waylon smiled approvingly as he handed Frank a fresh bottle. “Hey Waylon.” “Yes.... Frances.” “Where the hell is Aden Park?” “How should I know?” “The other night you said that Sam’s was the best place to get a drink in the five boroughs and Aden Park.” “No I said Sam’s was the best place to get a drink in the five boroughs and the hidden neighborhood of Aden Park.” “So what?” “Of something is hidden it’s hard to know where it is.” “Is this a fucking Yuppie King?” “No, I mean yes. There is a fucking Yuppie King just as there is an Aden Park, just nobody knows where its.” “Uh huh, forget I asked.” Waylon sat up halfway and glared at Frank.” “I may not know where Aden Park is, but I now it exists, I’ve been there.” “How do you know you weren’t just lost in Queens?” “I was lost, but not in Queens.” Frank rolled his eyes. He walked to the ledge to look over. He could see the tops of a few heads as they made their way unsteadily down the street. Waylon calmed down and settled back in his broken chair. “Am I not known to be a great admirer of a woman’s posterior?” asked Waylon. Frank turned back to Waylon but did not answer his question. “I was uptown showing an apartment to some Columbia kids. It happened to be around the corner from this little tiki bar I knew about. We had a few, and then decided to hit a couple more places.” Frank shook his head knowingly. “So about six in the morning the kids called it a night and went back to their dorm rooms. Meanwhile, I was still wide awake and decided to walk back here instead of taking the subway or a cab.” “That’s quite a trek,” said Frank “Yeah, I know,” Waylon continued. “but that was the mood I was in. Plus I knew the only way to keep from passing out was to keep moving. I didn’t want to fall asleep on the train and wake up in the depot again. It turned out to be a fortunate decision because as I passed through Hell’s Kitchen I saw the most beautiful woman I have every seen in my life. I never saw her from the front, but just from the back. I was hypnotized. She had this way of walking, sexy, but not slutty or forced. This casual swinging of the hips. Well before I realized what I was doing I had followed her for several blocks without once taking my eyes off her insanely hot ass. It suddenly became clear to me that I had to follow that rear wherever it went. If nothing else, I wanted to see where it came from, and if they could make more.”

43 Frank watched as a dreamy look passed over Waylon’s face. “I followed that beautiful behind for what felt like days. It kept turning and twisting until I lost all sense of direction. I didn’t dare look for a street sign or a landmark because I was afraid if I looked away for one second she would disappear. I trailed behind her through alleys, empty lots, street fairs, and several hotel lobbies. I followed her to the top of skyscrapers and through the bowels of the sewer system. Wherever she went, I went too, plodding along like a donkey after a carrot. “It seemed that no matter how quickly I walked I could never catch up to her. It was a struggle just to keep her from passing out of sight. Many times I wanted to give up, but I knew I would never forgive myself. So I kept going until she led me up a long spiral staircase that seemed to spring up straight from the sidewalk. There I found myself high above the city streets on elevated train platform. The train was in the station and I watched with abject horror as that glorious behind disappeared behind the closing doors. I could not accept that this train was going to take her out of my life forever. I needed to follow that behind. I needed to find out who it belonged to. And I needed to swear my undying love to the most perfect being ever created.” “You only saw her from the back.” “That all I needed to see. No woman with such an elegant and enchanting behind could ever be anything but a wonderful person. That posterior could never be callous, cold, or cruel. It could only be sweet and loving. I realized as the train began to pull away that I was meant to be with her and couldn’t let her get away. I chased after the train and jumped between the gap of two cars. At this point I realized that there were no tracks beneath me. The train glided on midair and I was hanging on dangerously with nothing but a long fall beneath me. I fought down my panic and managed to pull myself through the door and inside the train.” “Wait, there were no tracks?” “None that I could see. I was hanging from a door handle a hundred feet above the tops of buildings.” “So,” Frank said, “after you managed to climb into the flying subway train, did you find the girl?” “No, the train was empty, or at least that car was. I went to the next, and the next after that, but I couldn’t find her. The train arrived at its destination just as I made it to the last car. Once again I saw the beautiful behind in front of me. She had exited and was heading to the turnstile. I gave chase, determined not to let her out of my sight. “Unfortunately, I lapsed. As we left the train station we entered a large circular park, and I took my eyes momentarily off the beautiful behind to try to get a bearing of where I was. I was in a strange neighborhood, definitely still in New York, but I had no idea where. The park where I stood was stunning. It was filled with exotic plants and towering trees. It was built in a wide circle surrounded on all sides by the most extraordinary buildings. I could see that the streets all ran in circles leading out from the park. In the distance I could see what looked like a

44 giant gray cliff that surrounded the neighborhood on all sides. It was quite a sight. “All I can really say is that I was impressed. I guess I stared a little too long, because when I lowered my eyes the woman with the beautiful behind was gone. Vanished. “It was awful. I felt this sudden painful withdrawal and horrible guilt. I cursed myself for looking away and ran recklessly through the foreign streets of the unknown neighborhood searching in vain for her. I accosted pedestrians demanding information and describing her in great detail. But none of them had seen her. All my questions were met with the same answer: ‘You’re a young boy, you have plenty of time to find a good woman.’ This infuriated me to no end because it was hardly helpful and I took it as a slight against my future wife. “I spent many days crisscrossing the streets looking for her. At night I slept on benches and beneath staircases. I came to know the are pretty well. I even found its name in engraved in a large iron sign near the station: Aden Park. “Although I was distraught over the disappearance of the beautiful behind, I couldn’t help but be impressed at my surroundings. I wish I could do a better job describing it. I can only say that it was everything the city should be. If it were not for the beautiful behind I might have enjoyed myself.” Waylon paused in mid memory. His eyes closed as if picturing the lost streets of Aden Park. “So after what must have been weeks of searching I was tired and dejected. I did not want to give up my quest but I didn’t know where else to look. Neither did I know how to leave the place. As I had first suspected, the streets of the borough were circular, spiraling out from the park in its center. I journeyed to the furthest ring of streets. It was there that I discovered that the gray cliffs were really one giant skyscraper. The immense glass and steel structure encircled the entire neighborhood. I walked the entire circumference but never found a door or any kind of entrance or exit. Sometimes I could see people moving about through the glass windows, but they never took any notice of me. I yelled and threw rocks, but the people in the skyscraper cliff never once looked out the window at me. As far as I could tell the borough was impenetrable. It seemed like the only way in or out was by the train. “So with a heavy heart I decided to take the train back to Manhattan and back to my old life. I had this haunting feeling that if I left Aden Park I might not be able to return. But this seemed little reason to stick around if I couldn’t find the girl with the beautiful behind.” “So you gave up?” asked Frank quietly. “Well no. When I got to the platform I couldn’t get on the train. I was too conflicted. As frustrated and exhausted as I was, I found it very difficult to give up. That’s why it was such a relief when I noticed the initials SAS scratched on a storage closet door. “I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. If anyone knew where to find the world’s most beautiful behind, it would surely be someone in Sam’s Anarchist Saloon. I was instantly cured of any thoughts of giving up.

45 “I walked into the bar and stood up on a table. The entire place turned to hear me say, ‘I am looking for a woman with the most exquisite behind ever crafted by god or man. I followed it for many days but have lost her. If anyone has seen or knows where I can find it, I will be forever grateful.’ Waylon stopped in mid story to drink from his beer. He waited patiently for Frank to ask him to continue his story. “So what did they say?’ Frank asked. “Had any of them seen her?” “Oh yes. Many of the old timers had seen the beautiful behind at some point in their lives. But none of them had ever seen her face. Nor did any of them know where she could be found. They eagerly shared their many stories, but only one was any help. He was an old codger who sat apart from the others. He pulled me away from the others to his table in the back. It was there he told me everything he could; ‘Son, a man doesn’t see a sight like that for no reason. You saw the perfect ass because you were meant to. It has a purpose for you. If you want my advice, you just keep your eyes open, and she will be back for you. She always comes back. These men, they’ve seen her, but they’ve never followed her. I’ve known some of them men that had, and well I’ve never seen them again, but I’ve heard stories and they ain’t bad stories about the men who were lucky enough to see her face. So son, don’t you give up, but don’t you get too eager either. When the times right you’ll see your beautiful behind, and more.’ “The old codger put me in a good mood, and I got up to leave with a clear head. I decided I wouldn’t stress anymore about her, just keep my eyes open as the man said. In the meantime I decided to take in the sights because it is not every day a man stumbles onto a neighborhood that doesn’t exist.” “No it’s not,.” agreed Frank. “But alas, I had forgotten the tendency of the SAS to move on you. So when I went out the door I found myself on the corner of 23rd and Fifth Avenue.” “The Flat Iron building?” “Yep, and unsurprisingly when I turned around the old SAS was gone. In the weeks afterward I tried to find the elevated train stop that went to the Sixth Borough but to no avail. Once I thought I found the corner it was on, but the spiral staircase wasn’t there. I’ve asked around but no one has ever been to that borough or even heard of it. Except sometimes at Sam’s but even then they just clam up and keep it a secret. I was real down about it for a while, but then I remembered what the old man said, and I knew if I just kept on ramblin' around I’d eventually find my way back to it and to the woman with the beautiful behind. So I keep my eyes open.” Frank and Waylon sat in silence. At long last, Frank raised his bottle. “To the lost neighborhood of Aden Park,” toasted Frank. “And the lost bottom,” answered Waylon. They finished their beers and simultaneously threw the empty bottles over the side of their building. “You going down?” asked Waylon “Yeah, I think so.” “I’m just going to sleep up here,” said Waylon while opening another beer.

46 Frank opened the door to the stairwell and looked back at Waylon. He was lying back on his broken beach chair and had placed his bottle on his head. He closed his eyes.

47 CHAPTER 6

Many of the children had never known lives without pain. Pain was a constant reminder, that despite all the odds, they were still alive. Every child in Holden House was a miracle. None of them should have lived. None of them were expected to live much longer. For most, it had been years since they last set foot outside the hospital. Some had never left the building at all. For them, the world was a small room with white walls. It was filled with clear tubes, purring machines and smelled strongly of chemical lemons. Each morning they were asked, “How are you feeling today?” by a doctor or an intern. The children always answered in great detail and precision. They had little else to do but listen to their bodies complain and plan responses to the question that was more certain to come than the uncertain tomorrow. Dying had brought the children in tune with their bodies. They were conscious of every sensation of pain or discomfort. They were aware of the workings of individual organs and could feel them as they struggled against the sickness that was killing them. They could feel the cancer growing and the infection spreading. They would never get better. It was a long bitter fight they would not win, but still they fought. Nasya’s sole responsibility as a volunteer was to make sure the children knew that they were not alone no matter how isolated their condition made them feel. Nasya was there. She did little things. She fluffed pillows. She fetched little paper cups of cold water from the cooler in the hall. She supplied them with coloring books, puzzles and any other diversion she could think of. Sometimes she read them books, or watched movies with them. Most of the time Nasya simply sat with them in silence and held on tightly to a small hand. That was Nasya’s role, and she was happy to do it. The nurses and doctors were busy, and maintained a necessary distance from their patients. Providing comfort and companionship was left to the parents and volunteers like Nasya. It was rare for a volunteer to last very long. Most of the well-intentioned few never made it past their first week. But Nasya had been coming to Holden House for more than two years. The small building above the hospital was the only place where Nasya felt truly comfortable. This was something she disliked about herself. She was supposed to be there for the children who were all suffering horrible diseases. It should not have been a place she enjoyed. But she did. When Nasya was with a child she did not feel awkward or nervous. She knew that nothing was expected of her except to be there, and by doing so she was helping. Nasya and the children were very close. She often spent more time at their bedsides than their parents. She could not help but become deeply attached to every child she came into contact with. That the bond was so fleeting

48 made it more special. Every death left Nasya crushed, and each time she swore she could not go through it again. But she always came back.

6.2

Frank arrived early on the promised morning. He was dressed once again in a faded T-shirt and jeans. Nasya appreciated him not dressing up for the kids. They had seen enough clowns. She had been anxious before he came. She did not know how he would expect her to act. But when she saw him, she found no reason to be nervous. Again she marveled at the casualness of his manner. Nasya had not cleared his presence with any of the administrators, but no one noticed Frank in the hallway. The security officer did not even look up as Frank walked past his desk. It was as if he were invisible. Nasya accompanied Frank on a circuit of each of the occupied rooms. Before he visited each patient she would tell him the child’s name and their illnesses in the simplest terms possible. “Kyle was born with a hole in his lungs. Every time he breathes the hole rips a little bigger. Soon he won’t be able to get oxygen and he will need a ventilator.” Frank listened quietly. He never asked a question. He would nod, then walk through the door and go right into his act. “Hello Kyle, I’m Frank,” he said to the young boy surrounded by blipping machines. Frank did not not wait for Kyle to answer. “Did you know that when you crack an egg with a magic wand, it turns into a dove?” A flapping of wings was accompanied by Kyle’s wheeze of delight. “And when you cover the dove with a handkerchief you can turn it purple. Here you try.” Kyle stretched his little hand out and covered the dove with Frank’s offered handkerchief. When Frank whipped it off he was holding a shoe. “That’s not right at all, what did you do?” Kyle answered with gurgling laughter. Nasya could see Frank from behind, and could see him manipulate his props. Still she laughed along with Kyle. Frank talked to children as if they were adults. He did not patronize them. He treated his tricks as if they were natural occurrences instead of great feats of magic. “Wait, I know what to do. Hold this,” said Frank. He gave Kyle the wand before bending over to replace the shoe back on his left foot. When he straightened up he was holding up an oddly shaped crystal ball. “OK now tap this twice,” he instructed Kyle. The glass ball turned a deep shade of purple. “That isn’t right either.” Frank looked flummoxed, but Nasya could see through him.

49 “It must be the wand that’s broken, give it here.” He took back his wand and snapped it over his knee. A bright purple dove appeared in his hands flapping wildly. “Ah there we go,” Frank said happily. Kyle smiled wide enough to be seen even through his oxygen mask. Today his world was a little less dull. Frank continued for another five minutes of magic before Nasya led him on to the next room and its resident. “This is Malcolm,” Nasya informed Frank. “The bump on his head that looks like a horn is actually a growth of cartilage. As it grows it is putting more and more pressure on his brain. Doctors want to remove it, but they are uncertain how to do it without causing extensive brain damage.” Again, Frank merely nodded before entering the room and giving the child within an interactive magic show. Throughout the rounds Nasya watched Frank closely. He never repeated a trick, and always left the children with a smile. He never once shirked from giving a good performance, nor did he shy away from any patient no matter how malformed. She watched from behind and knew that it was just what the children needed. They needed to know their small world wasn’t just pain, loneliness, and monotony. That it could be filled with surprises and wonderment. But as they entered each room Nasya found herself watching less of the magic and more of Frank. She stared at the back of his neck noticing the cowlick and the slight farmer’s tan. She looked at his arms as they tensed and relaxed. She watched his hands. Something about them bothered her. It wasn’t something that she could place, but she felt her skin redden. It made her feel hot and uncomfortable. Frank finished entertaining Susie, who had leukemia, and discovered that he was alone in the hallway. Nasya had vanished. He walked back through the corridor and peered into doorways, until he found her in an empty room sitting on the bare mattress with her face hidden by her hands. “Nasya?” he whispered. She jumped, startled and looked away from him embarrassed. He stood next to her and for a moment looked like he was about to touch her, but did not. “I’m sorry, was I crying?” “No,” he said. Nasya smiled. “Yes I was. I was crying.” “Are you all right?” “I’m fine.” Nasya stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of her clothes. Frank handed her his magic handkerchief which she took and wiped her eyes. “You’re sure you are all right?” “Yes. I’m fine when I cry.” Nasya looked sideways into the circular mirror and examined her teary eyes. “If I didn’t cry... I don’t know. But I always feel better when I do. These kids you know?”

50 Frank nodded. “They don’t need anyone’s pity. They need people to be strong around them. But still they’re kids. And it’s sad. I’m glad it still makes me cry. I’m afraid sometimes that I’ll stop. That I’ll go through a day and won’t shed a tear. That I will be able to look at these brave souls in so much pain and not feel a thing. I don’t want to become like that. I don’t want to feel nothing.” Nasya turned from the mirror and smiled again. “But you were wonderful, everyone enjoyed it. You made a lot of special children happy.” “I think it’s good.” “What?” “That you cry.” “No, it’s unprofessional... oh this is silly. Let’s go get something to eat.” She was embarrassed, so Frank let her be. Nasya was grateful. She had not known that about herself until she told Frank. Lunch in the cafeteria was a quiet affair. Neither of them talked. For once, Nasya was not bothered by uncomfortable silence. Her own thoughts were too loud to talk over. Frank also, did not appear to be bothered by the lack of conversation. To Nasya, he looked as he always did, oddly at peace. But there was something else she noticed. The first time she saw him, she had been amazed at how he had disappeared into crowd. It had seemed like people could see through him. Today he seemed less transparent. Without being asked, Nasya walked Frank to the subway. It was only then that the silence between them was broken. “You’re very good,” Nasya told him. “Thank you.” “Do you ever perform at clubs or on stage anywhere?” “I only do magic for kids.” “Why? You are really good. You could be doing television shows, casinos. Lots of people would pay to see you. You wouldn’t have to do kids birthday parties anymore.” “I only do magic for kids because I don’t do magic for adults. You do a trick for an adult, and the whole time they are just trying to figure out how you are doing it. And after you’re done they demand the secret, as if they have a right to it. But with kids, they are just happy to be amazed. And that’s all I want. I like leaving the audience entertained, not angry at me for outsmarting them.” They both stopped and stood for a long moment at the entrance to the train. “Thanks for asking me. I enjoyed it,” said Frank finally. “You could come back. They always need people here, and the children all loved you.” Frank smiled and walked down the subway without saying goodbye.

51 6.3

The Good Doctor could see a portrait of himself, Nasya and their future family hanging on the wall of the new wing of the hospital that would surely be named after him when he retired. The Good Doctor thought he might try his hand at politics. Perhaps he could become a senator. He could do anything with a good wife by his side. People liked strong family men. But Nasya had been distracted by something. She hardly talked when they met his colleagues for dinner. He would have to to help her become a better hostess if she was to be a senator’s wife. But there was more than just a little shyness to deal with. There was an innate apathy in her that he would have to fix. The Good Doctor believed he knew what would help her. Nasya needed a baby. The Good Doctor, like all conceited men, was sure that other people thought the same way he did. Of course Nasya was disconcerted. She must have been worried that his condition would keep them from conceiving and raising children. But he had a surprise in store for Nasya. Years before the accident that had left him a quadruple amputee, the Good Doctor had opened a savings account at a sperm bank. The Good Doctor was always certain he would make a mark on the world. He knew that someday his success would win him the company of scores of beautiful women. He had prudently planned to get an operation ensuring that he need not fear the entanglements of an act he imagined himself doing to so many of the highest quality women in the world. And so when he entered a prodigious medical school certain of his greatness, he began depositing that greatness on a weekly basis. The idea was that when he found a women suitable to be his wife, the two of them would select the finest of his sperm to be his future heirs. He was certain that future technologies would let him separate those tadpoles with the most potential to live up to their father’s successes. He did worry that it might be better to have only daughters so that no son would have to compete with such an illustrious predecessor. But he was worried about his name. The lineage should continue and perhaps become a great dynasty. So certain was the Good Doctor of his greatness that he imagined himself on the event of his own death posthumously releasing all his sperm to the public to allow women to instill half of his genes in their offspring, and thus improving the child’s future. This was to be his greatest act of charity. However, the Good Doctor eventually decided against using his seed to improve the gene pool. Instead, he would give the entire batch as an engagement gift to Nasya. She would be sole recipient of his seed. She alone would be able to bear his children, and be the great mother in his dynasty. It had taken him a while to track down his sperm. The bank he had an account with had been bought out by a larger Swiss sperm bank who had mixed the smaller banks assets with their own. Luckily, with the help of his attorney, and a private investigator, he had been able to track down his semen to a holding company in the Cayman islands.

52 It was in excellent condition and the manager was certain that the batch that remained was enough for hundreds of pregnancies. The Good Doctor would be able to establish the best possible candidate sperm for his heir and offspring. He was positive that Nasya would be thrilled. Shortly after the discovery of his misplaced semen the Good Doctor decided it was time for he and Nasya to marry. He immediately began the preparations for their life together. He called his attorney and had him draw up the prenuptial agreement. He made an appointment with a highly respected wedding planner. And lastly, he discreetly had Nasya tested for genetic disorders. She passed with flying colors and the Good Doctor saw this as a positive sign of things to come. There had been one small wrench in the works. The Good Doctor had decided to make the purely symbolic gesture of asking Dr. Silverman’s permission to marry his daughter. He had no doubt in his mind that the man would be thrilled to have such an accomplished son-in-law. But to the Good Doctor’s consternation and surprise, the old orthodontist had said no. He had the audacity to say no! The Good Doctor had never known such arrogance. Such a snafu had almost ruined his plans! But fortunately Dr. Cap’s better half had intercepted him before he could make a swift departure from the house of the man who had embarrassed him. She explained to him Dr. Cap’s problem to him. The old tooth straightener was jealous that his daughter should have a better man than him. Well, that explained it. Jealousy! The Good Doctor had run up against that sort of man many times in his life. It was not unexpected for a person in the Good Doctor’s position. The Good Doctor decided to be the bigger man. There was no reason to let Nasya suffer for the blinding envy of her old man. No, his plans would continue, and it was good to know he had an ally in Mrs. Silverman.

6.4

Frank came back and he came back often. Each morning he would wander the train station picking pockets, but by ten he would show up at the Holden House. Nasya added Tuesday and Friday to her schedule and soon they were spending everyday together. Frank didn’t always do magic, sometimes he would tell them stories, or play video games with them. He wasn’t an official volunteer like Nasya but none of the doctors had yet to notice him, so Frank still roamed the hospital corridors freely. Each day they would have lunch together before Frank would leave. They would talk or not talk depending on their day. Nasya never lost her amazement of how centered Frank appeared to be. Yet how apart he was. No matter what was going on around him, Frank always remained separate. Nasya was enjoying Frank’s company. She found herself telling him everything about her father, her mother, and the Good Doctor. Frank never seemed to say much of anything, but this only emboldened her. She realized

53 how long it had been since she had someone to talk to. Everyone else talked at her. Frank listened.

54 CHAPTER 7

Nasya hated the subway. She took the bus everywhere that she couldn’t walk. It was slow and inconvenient, but she was more comfortable riding above ground. She needed to know that she could get off at any time. Also, Nasya found that passengers on the bus tended to stare out the windows, whereas commuters on the subway tended to look mainly at each other. Taxis were worse. She hated being left alone with a stranger. It made her paranoid thinking the driver was staring at her from the rear view mirror. Once Nasya had got into a cab and forgot to tell the driver where she wanted to go. The old man just sat there with the engine idling waiting for her to tell him her destination. Only after what must have been several minutes did Nasya realize what she had done. She was so embarrassed that she exited the taxi without going anywhere. The old cab driver had watched her walk away with a look of pure confusion. Afterwards, each time she was forced to take a taxi she was secretly afraid the same old man would be behind the wheel. Nasya never had a problem with bus drivers. They ignored her as they did everyone. Most even had signs prohibiting passengers from talking to them while the bus was moving. Nasya often wished she had a sign. A little placard that forbade people from staring or sitting too close. Nasya noticed how other young women isolated themselves on public transport. They wore headphones, and played games on their cell phones. That seemed to work. These women made themselves unapproachable and cut off from everyone around them. Unfortunately for Nasya, cell phones and headphones were two of her least favorite objects. She found both intrusive. She had tried reading books but found hearing the author’s voice in her head just as jarring as hearing music. She also became aware of other bus riders glancing at the cover of her reading material. She could tell they were making judgments. It wasn’t that Nasya disliked books or music. She had always loved to read and was very fond of music. But there were times, often when she was in public, that she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She wanted be in a bubble where no one existed but her. She did not want to be reminded of the masses milling around her or be obligated to interact with them. She just wanted to be alone. Then, Nasya discovered that wearing a pair of headphones that were disconnected was just as effective at discouraging conversation. She began carrying a pair with her at all times. She would put them on whenever she felt uncomfortable, all the while keeping the unconnected plug in her jacket pocket. It was a clear sign to anyone around that she was not to be talked to while the bus was in motion. On this day Nasya left her headphones at home. She had not needed them lately. Her thoughts had been so forceful that she needed no assistance

55 losing herself to them. It was Frank that she was thinking about, and she had been thinking of him most of the time during the last few weeks. She could not understand him. The unnamable quality she had first seen in him at her niece’s birthday party remained but she was no closer to discovering its source. A young man and woman entered at the next stop, shattering Nasya’s mental quiet. They sat across from Nasya, and were both loudly talking on their cellphones. She could not help but hear their one-sided conversations but could not follow what was being said. Neither of the two seemed to pay any attention to their surroundings or they would have noticed that the entire busload of people was listening to their two disjointed dialogues. The interruption forced Nasya to concede one positive aspect of riding the subway. There was no cell phone coverage. Nasya found she could not return to her contemplation, so she instead focused her energy in trying to close her ears to intruders’ chatter. It did not work. Every inane word spoken vibrated painfully in her head. Finally, the male jumped up out of his seat to leave. The two did not even pause in their separate conversations to say goodbye. Instead, the young man lowered his face next to the young woman’s so she could kiss him quickly and return to her talking without missing half a beat. The man also continued talking even as Nasya watched him walking down the street in the opposite direction. Their rudeness annoyed Nasya, but at the same time she recognized something familiar in their manners. It was a casualness that in some ways was similar to Frank’s. The two loud young people could move comfortably in the world because they ignored it. “No,” Nasya was able to think to herself. “Frank is nothing like these people.” These people could withstand the stares and judgment of strangers because of an innate arrogance that shielded them from self-consciousness. They just did not care about other people. Frank did not illicit stares. No one looked at him with angry or unpleasant thoughts. No one looked at him at all. But what struck Nasya the most about the young couple was the kiss. She could not tell if the two were boyfriend and girlfriend. They most likely were not. But they had allowed each other intimacy in such an offhand and distracted way. It made her instantly jealous. Nasya and the Good Doctor rarely if ever kissed. It was not something she had been aware of until she witnessed the annoying couple say their goodbyes. They, (the Good Doctor and Nasya) did not kiss goodbye, and they did not kiss to say hello. Even when they were intimate, their faces were never close. Nasya could not think of which of them was responsible for the lack of kissing. Had she pulled away from him, or was it him who avoided contact? The bus arrived at the hospital and Nasya realized that she had been able to fall back into her thoughts despite the loud, annoying woman who still talked shrilly on her phone.

56 7.2

With Frank spending more and more time at the hospital, Waylon began finding himself alone at the apartment often. It was not a situation he was accustomed to. He noticed Frank’s absence keenly. He was used to having someone around to listen to him. Or at least pretend to. Adam had not been around lately. In the wake of his impending divorce, Adam was spending more and more time at Shelly’s. When he was around he just wanted to complain. Little Mann was equally frustrating. All he wanted to talk about was real estate investment, and Waylon was growing tired of pretending to understand whatever it was that Little Mann liked to prattle on about. Waylon considered the majority of conversation to be adversarial. Most people just waited for their time to speak. It wasn’t the casual considerations of each other’s ideas. It was a contest. Participants vied with each other to determine who was the wittiest, the most intelligent, and the most fun. Waylon did not necessarily mind this. He considered himself an excellent conversationalist for his ability to monopolize their center of attention. But talking to Frank wasn’t an exercise in verbal dominance. Frank actually listened. Frank could consider any idea, and hear out any argument without having the usual human reaction of putting in his own two cents. And he could ask questions. Usually a question is a tactical ploy to change the direction of the conversation, but Frank used questions solely as a means to obtain more information. Waylon had always found that incredibly odd. Waylon was certain it had to be a woman. Only a woman could explain such an uncharacteristic change in Frank. That worried Waylon immensely. He had bad luck with women. Not in his personal relationships, but in the relationships of his close friends. If it was anyone else but Frank, Waylon would have done something. But for Frank, Waylon decided he could endure a little solitude and withhold judgment for a time on whomever Frank’s mysterious woman turned out to be.

7.3

Once, in a state of severe boredom, Waylon had ventured upstairs and tried to befriend Grover. Despite his best efforts, he found Grover too alien to understand. Waylon could not comprehend Grover’s total devotion to television, nor could he even begin to empathize with Grover’s driving need for the constant flow of information. Grover who begrudged Waylon the interruption still did his best to explain to him the importance of what it was that he did. “Eighty million people watched the finale of Friends. Eighty million people sitting there sharing the same experience, all seeing and hearing, and feeling the same for one full hour. So, by watching that one program, you aren’t just being entertained, you are a part of something much bigger than yourself. You are part of a collective consciousness.”

57 Waylon did not understand at all. In lieu of a comment he took a long sip of the Dr. Pepper that had been the only thing Grover had to drink in the apartment. He looked blankly at Grover and wondered how a person could survive on only Dr. Pepper and Hot Pockets, but he nodded all the same. When Waylon was confused he nodded “You don’t see it?” Grover asked. “I have to admit. I am not sure what you're getting at.” Grover sighed wearily before continuing “The purpose of all religion is to be part of something bigger than yourself. In Hinduism, the soul gets reincarnated over and over again until it is ready to become one with Atman. Do you understand? In Buddhism, when a person reaches enlightenment, they become one with everything else. The human mind is a drop of water, and Nirvana is an ocean. When you reach enlightenment you cease to be you and become all.” “I’ve never had a mind for the abstract,” said Waylon. “But that to me sounds awful.” Grover was obviously disappointed by Waylon’s response. So many times he got the same reaction. No one understood him. Not his parents, not his professors. Grover had always made an effort, hoping that someone might finally comprehend the drive that consumed him. Unfortunately other people were too close-minded to even begin to understand. But still he made a valiant effort, even on such a hopeless case as Waylon. “No, to be able to escape the body and the physical world is to find peace. To know all and feel all. You would know all the universe's joy, but all the universe’s sorrow. It would be like experiencing everything that mankind has ever gone through all at once. Can’t you see how exhilarating that would be?” “Personally I like the heaven in cartoons. Everyone just chills out on some clouds all day. Though I’m not a big fan of the harp.” Grover dropped his shoulders in resignation. “Is there anything you take seriously?” “Not really,” replied Waylon. “But I think I understand your religious thing. I just don’t know how that explains why you sit up here all day watching three televisions.” “Television is the Atman of American society. Through it we become one people. So much of our shared experiences are achieved through television. Technology has given us the means of enlightenment. With television, radio, and the internet we can go beyond ourselves. We can connect with others though media. The ocean of information is our nirvana. It is the oneness of the human race. I believe it is our purpose to go beyond our individual lives and become one with collective soul of all that is around us. That is what this new age of information can do.” Grover had grown excited. Deep in his heart he had always hoped someday to find other like minds. He hoped to teach them all he had learned. Not as a prophet, but as a guide to lead them along the path to enlightenment that the modern age had given them. But Waylon was lost, and looking into his eyes Grover knew he was no different than all the others. They didn’t understand

58 and they never would. You cannot explain the religious experience to others, they have to have to experience it for themselves. “So you are saying that you don’t just watch television, you worship it?” asked Waylon. “No, I am not saying that at all.” Grover snapped. “I think you had better leave, I’ve wasted too much time on you already.” Needing no further invitation, Waylon walked back down the stairs vowing never to bother with the nut above him ever again. Grover made a similar pledge to avoid the philistine unbeliever from downstairs.

7.4

It was hard for Grover. He had never expected the road to enlightenment to be easy, but he never expected that the pursuit of spiritual union with all mankind would be so lonely. With his many internet friends all around the world, Grover only felt isolated when he was forced to interact with humans in person. It was beyond frustrating, but he had been forced to accept that most people never would understand. Grover had first formulated his ideas into a cohesive theory while pursuing a graduate degree in communications from Fordham. The professors that formed his dissertation committee could not grasp the big picture of what he was trying to present. They kept thinking that his idea of modern media becoming the American Atman was an analogy. They just couldn’t grasp the power that lay behind what they studied. They did not see the power of it all. For them mass media was a cultural phenomena. They thought it could be studied. Grover saw beyond that. It couldn’t just be studied, it had to be experienced. It had to be experienced fully. Grover’s awakening had occurred while he was still a child living with his parents in Tenefly, New Jersey. He had been watching the Cosby show. It was an episode where Rudy befriends an old woman who would not take her medication. While Grover watched, he slowly became aware of others doing the same activity. It was an awareness that he felt in his bones. He could actually feel them all across the country, all at the same time, watching the Cosby Show, with him. It was such a powerful experience, that as a sensitive little boy, it made him cry. He was overcome with the sheer joy of being connected with so many other people. Television has always given joy. He was lucky that the divorce of his parents had given him ample time to experience it. The lack of adult supervision allowed him to spend the majority of his free time alone in front of the television, connecting with America. He watched everything whether it was a sitcom or an animal documentary. His tastes tended to follow wherever the ratings went. For the more people who watched, the more people he felt connected to. It was escapism, but it was more than just an amusing diversion. Grover had always been uncomfortable with his body. He hated the drudgery of maintaining it. He knew he had to eat, so he ate. He knew he had to

59 shit. so he shit. But he didn’t like it. The task of ridding one’s body of waste was disgusting. And the chore of keeping it fed was tedious. So he immersed himself in media knowing that he was meant to be one with it rather than alone in his living, breathing, shitting body. When the internet rose in popularity and use in the nineties, it had seemed like the realization of all Grover's dreams and ideas. It was a connection to other people. It was a means of communicating and experiencing things without having to leave your home. The physical world had no bearing on it. He felt the same power of connectedness and oneness on the internet that he had found with television. Of late he almost thought it was more important. But this led him to understand that it was media itself that was nirvana, not just television. It was the collective output and shared consciousness of all mankind put together. Grover knew that he could find the true path. Someday, the drop of water that was him, would join the ocean of information. Grover spent all of his days either aggressively trying to soak up the most amount of media as he could, or engaging with it in the form of his web sites and the internet. He had even begun meditating while watching the TV guide channel. He felt himself getting closer. Grover knew he was nearing the end of his journey. That was why the frequent power outages were nearly unbearable. In the mean time, Grover ate his Hot Pockets, drank his Dr. Pepper. He watched his three televisions and lost himself in the media of the planet hoping one day he wouldn’t be able to come back.

7.5

Nasya inevitably met Waylon. He finally had enough and came by the hospital to drag Frank away with him. Nasya was swept along before she had a chance to resist. Waylon took them to a giant Indian restaurant in Jackson Heights. It had the atmosphere of a school cafeteria, a stainless steel buffet with steaming curry and rice dishes, pungent and hot. The three of them were the only non-Indians there. Waylon talked to everyone seated around them before turning his attention to Frank and Nasya. “Girish over there is the guy that told me about this place. You remember him?” Frank looked closely at the mustached man at the next table. “He was the cab driver that took us home after the block party in Spanish Harlem.” Waylon turned to Nasya, ”This guy remembers everybody. That was a fun day. I learned how to play stick ball.” Nasya was learning how to take Waylon. His abruptness startled her, and he never stopped talking. But she was getting used to it, and happy enough to let him monopolize the conversation. “See this watch,” said Waylon holding up his arm. Nasya looked. An old face with roman numerals and a worn leather band.

60 “This is Kofi Annan’s watch.” Frank coughed violently and reached for the water. Waylon ignored him, focusing on Nasya confusion. “What?” “It’s true. Years ago, when Frank and I were still college roommates at Carleton, Kofi Annan came to speak at Macalaster which is his alma mater and our arch rival. So Frank and I and maybe Mark, and Gomer.” Waylon turned to Frank. “You remember Mark and Gomer?’ “Gomer just had a kid.” “I heard that. Anyway, the four of us drove to St. Paul and decided to stop in, hear the man talk. Long and dull. When he finally wraps up, Mark, Gomer, and I make to leave, but Frank here runs up to Mr. Annan and shakes his hand strongly. When he comes back to us, he’s got Kofi’s watch up his sleeve. Frank doesn’t wear a watch, so he gave it to me, and now when someone asks me if I own any timepieces that once belonged to a former Secretary General of the UN, I no longer have to lie.” Nasya smiled and looked to Frank. “You stole Kofi Annan’s watch?” Frank shrugged. “Not just Kofi Annan’s watch. Professors, deans, the mayor of Northfield. At one point Frank had twenty some wristwatches pinned up on the wall of his dorm room.” “I went through a phase,” said Frank. “Frank never told you about any of this?” “No, I didn’t even know you guys went to college together, Frank never mentioned you before.” “What? Frank! Are you embarrassed of me?” “Of course I am. If you hadn’t shown up uninvited I would never have admitted to knowing you.” “You snobby bastard.” Nasya enjoyed listening to their exchange, but it made her realize how little she knew of Frank. He never talked about himself. But Waylon put him in context. Nasya remembered her own friendship with her freshman roommate being based on mutual shyness. They would go places and stand together not daring to venture out and meet people. When they had separated her roommate had taken it hard and cried. Nasya had been surprised at the affection her friend had for her. For the entire year that they knew each other, Nasya could not remember them ever really talking. But when she was given that tearful farewell hug she felt the deepest regret that she hadn’t developed the affection for this girl that she could have. Waylon and Frank were different kinds of friends. They were such polar opposites of each other that it had made them similar. Both were at ease among crowds of people. Frank did it by disappearing and observing, but Waylon went out and met everyone there. He was the most social person she had ever met.

61 As they later sat in a bar back near the hospital, Waylon was constantly jumping up to say hello to someone he knew. Even several of the nurses knew Waylon. Frank and Waylon seemed to complement each other and she was glad to have met them both. Nasya felt her life was changing for the better. Her original reasons for contacting Frank were mostly forgotten. She was just happy to spend time with him. Nasya never felt anxious or uncomfortable with Frank. Others noticed the change in her. She had gone back to talk to her father and they had been friendly. They didn’t fight for the first time in months. All in all everything had improved. She was content and that was new.

7.6

Malcolm was not very good at the video game. His hand-eye coordination had deteriorated rapidly. Frank was pretending to have difficulty with his controls. His on screen character stood motionless on the monitor. Malcolm’s character was kicking the digital air between them. Finally, Malcolm was able to maneuver his character close enough to Frank’s that some of his flailing front kicks landed and Frank’s character was thrown to the left of the screen. Malcolm’s laugh sounded dry and forced. Frank was not paying attention to the game. For Frank, helping the sick and dying was one of the hardest experiences he had ever put himself though. It was especially bad with the children. It took a certain type of person. Frank was not sure he was that type of person. Frank decided that most of the people who volunteered had an inflated sense of their own personal goodness. They had a self image of themselves as kind and selfless. So they engaged in activities that reinforced that self image. Most of the volunteers for Holden House soon discovered that their self image could not withstand the reality of a dying child. These volunteers soon went off looking for easier acts of charity to make them feel like good people again. Frank knew that Nasya was different. She helped because she could. She volunteered with the hardest, most soul wrenching patients because something in her made it impossible not to. Suffering did not scare her as it did others. It moved her. What bothered Frank ultimately was not what motivated Nasya, but why he himself was spending so much of his time with the dying. Frank did not consider himself either a good person or a bad person. He would never knowingly cause another person to suffer, but at the same time he had never felt any compulsion to ease someone else’s suffering. Death and disease did not upset Frank. Frank saw every human life as infinitely unique. For him, suffering was only an aspect of life. It was not as much a tragedy as an experience. Or at least that was what Frank thought on an intellectual level. His emotional reaction was much more difficult to wrap his head around. The kids liked Frank. He was their magical friend that adults couldn’t see. Frank liked the children too and he hated watching them slowly die in front of him.

62 But Frank knew at the bottom of it all that he was not there for them. He was there for Nasya.

63 CHAPTER 8

Then, one of Nasya’s children died. Her name had been Estelle, and her sick, tired heart had finally stopped beating. It had been expected for weeks, and most of the attendants viewed her demise as a relief and a blessing. Things had been going badly for her. But Nasya refused to see the tragedy of a life cut short as anything else but tragic. She bit her lip every time another person told her “that at least Estelle had gone peacefully.” Estelle had never done anything peacefully. People unfamiliar with the terminally ill are often surprised by how un-bitter and stoic they appear to be. They do not realize that what they see is not a person reacting to their unfortunate circumstances with quiet determination. It is instead, a person who has suffered to the point where suffering is mundane and merely routine. They may be angry, bitter, and scared. But they are often just too tired to show it. This is doubly true for the young. It is easy to forget that they are children. They are scared, confused, and lonely. It is wrong to expect them to react to devastating disease with maturity and poise. They react as children react. Estelle was a child. A very sick, temperamental child. She was furious at her diseased heart. Almost as much as she was furious at the doctors who could not fix it. She refused to accept her condition, and she refused to suffer quietly. Estelle would yell, she would scream, she pouted and she seethed. She made life as difficult as she could for the doctors who could not help her. On Nasya’s very first day, she had been placed with Estelle. The small, thin ten year old had driven off all of the other volunteers. For Nasya, who had expected to spend the afternoon playing board games, it was a trial by fire. Estelle threw tantrums and called Nasya names. She threw her books and tore up the flowers that Nasya had brought her. Estelle had been as surprised as the rest of the staff when Nasya showed up the next day and sat once again in the chair by Estelle’s bedside. But she still tried her hardest to make Nasya angry. Slowly after weeks of testing, Estelle realized that Nasya was not going anywhere and resigned herself to her company. She learned that however much she tried to provoke her Nasya would not fight back. After that she trusted Nasya a little. It was not enough to make her stop abusing Nasya, but it was enough to sometimes make her feel bad about it. This new emotion was especially awful for Estelle because it made her think that all the pain was her own fault because of her bad behavior. She would often erupt into crying fits that lasted hours. It was painstakingly hard, but Nasya stayed with Estelle. She took the abuse when Estelle was angry, and comforted her when Estelle was sad. Nasya had avoided conflict for much of her life, but with Estelle she found the constant antagonism almost comforting. After a day dealing with tantrums and

64 depressions, Nasya was so mentally tired she could no longer be bothered with her own imagined anxieties. Nasya always felt less nervous leaving the hospital than at any other time. As Estelle became sicker, she did not get quieter. She got louder, and more demanding. She suddenly became violent. She slapped nurses and bit doctors. It was as if Estelle, desperate to keep fighting against her heart’s disintegration, had expanded her battle to everything around her. Some of the nurses had wanted to restrain her. Nasya was able to stop them from fitting Estelle with padded arm bands but was not able to stop them from sedating her. For the last week of her life, Estelle was comatose. Her face was a mask of unnatural and uncharacteristic calm. So when others said her death was a relief, Nasya knew it was a relief for them not for Estelle. It was easier for all of them with Estelle gone. They no longer had to be rudely reminded how horrible it all was.

8.2

Estelle’s parents were wealthy and well known philanthropists. Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt had donated a good deal of money to the hospital and to Holden House. The Good Doctor considered both personal friends, and Nasya was forced to meet them socially on many occasions. They never knew the relationship Nasya had with their daughter. They never asked her any questions about herself, and Nasya felt no need to offer them anything. She would try in vain to be rude, but they never gave her a chance. The Wyatts had confined Estelle into Holden House long before she had really needed to be. If they had been inclined, Estelle could have been able to be treated at home. But they were not inclined. They put Estelle in an expensive private room with every amenity that Estelle had no use for. The Wyatts rarely visited the hospital. But did hold large charity galas for its benefit. These were exclusive black tie events that rarely raised more money than the cost of the entertainments. Nasya had sat through many of them. The combination of the rich food and the obscene extravagance had always made Nasya’s stomach curl into knots. The Good Doctor never wanted to leave early so Nasya often spent the evening bent over in her chair trying to keep the pain from showing in her face. Everyone else at the hospital was in awe of the Wyatts. They were constantly thanking them for their tireless dedication to sick children. Everyone believed they were such wonderful people. Everyone but Nasya, who hated Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt with an intensity shared only by Estelle herself. Nasya took the death of Estelle hard. Nasya took everything hard. But this time her grief was clouded with guilt. For the last few weeks Nasya had enjoyed herself. Frank had been there. Nasya had not neglected Estelle. She had sat with her throughout the last days even though Estelle was unconscious. Truly she had done more for Estelle than anyone else could have done. But in

65 the final hours Nasya had not been grieving for the poor child’s lost youth. Nasya had instead been happy for herself and the changes in her own life. It made her feel so incredibly selfish. As was tradition, Holden House held a brief memorial service for Estelle. All the children had been wheeled into a large conference room. The doctors and nurses stood on the opposite side with the family. In the past, memorial services were treated as small social occasions. It was a chance for everyone to talk to each other. This time, no one talked. They stood quietly and watched Estelle’s mother loudly weep. Mrs. Wyatt was wearing a designer black dress and sat in a hard plastic chair wailing into her husband’s silk handkerchief. Her husband held her and doctors and nurses were all giving her consoling gestures. “My brave little girl. My poor, poor brave little girl.” Mrs. Wyatt kept repeating. Nasya was disgusted. The hawk-faced woman wanted to be the center of attention. This display of emotion had nothing to do with Estelle. Mrs. Wyatt had forced everyone in the room to focus on the poor grieving mother, not her lost child. Nasya wanted to scream at her, “ She was not brave, she was scared!” But she knew she would not. Everyone there, excluding the Wyatts, knew it was Nasya who had spent the most time with Estelle. People kept glancing at her sadly, and she did not know how she was supposed to react. Nasya felt like they expected something from her. Should she be uncontrollably crying like the mother? How was she supposed to feel? Nasya was on the verge of panic. She needed to leave. She found herself in Estelle’s old room. It had been cleaned out. All the books and toys were now in two large black trash bags sitting in the corner. She was thankful it was deserted and empty. She just wanted to be alone. Nasya was not alone. Frank had followed her from the memorial service and was now standing at the doorway in much the same way he had on his first day Holden House. Nasya looked up at him and was suddenly angry. It was Frank’s expression. He always looked the same. Nothing ever bothered him. He never was nervous, uncomfortable, angry, or sad. “What is wrong with you?” said Nasya as cruelly as she could. “How so?” Nasya stared hard into his face, and tried to see anything his eyes that could pass as emotion. Finally she asked him the one question she had been trying to ask ever since the day he showed up at her parents’ home. “How do you do it?” Nasya asked. Frank just stares back at her. Nasya thought she saw a hint of sadness. It encouraged her, and she pressed him further. “From the first time I saw you, you seemed so removed.” Nasya struggled to find the right words. It was so hard to articulate what she meant. “It’s like you are not there. You never seem uncomfortable, or bothered by anything. You are just so ... apart.” “Nasya,” Frank began. “I don’t know what you mean.”

66 “Yes you do. I have seen you disappear. I’ve seen you walk into a room and no longer be there even as you stand in the middle. How do you do it Frank? How do you separate yourself from all this?” Nasya made a frantic gesture with her hands, tossing them outward to encompass the entire incomprehensible world. Frank stared at her without saying a word. He knew what she was asking him. He knew there was something different about him. It was something he himself had often thought about. Why wasn’t he like other people? He did not feel what they felt. He did not think as they thought. He could walk among them, but had never been part of them. He was, as Nasya said, apart. Finally Frank opened his mouth. “I don’t know if I could tell you, but maybe, if you like, I can show you.”

8.3

Frank took Nasya to Grand Central station. It was crowded. Tourists and commuters bustled past them going in a million different directions. Nasya immediately felt a bout of anxiety well up inside of her. She always avoided large groups of people and it was only because she trusted Frank that she allowed him take her there in the midst of them. “What do you see?’ asked Frank. Nasya was looking down at her shoes. She was trying to keep her anxiety in check. “I’m not sure,” Nasya said “Yes you are.” Frank replied quietly. Nasya glanced upward. She saw the oncoming flow of human bodies hurtling toward her. She felt like she was wading in a river that was threatening to to sweep her away. Nasya could not swim. She immediately looked back down at her shoes. “People.” Nasya said. Frank nodded. “Hundreds of them, and in this city millions of them, and on this planet billions of them,” he said. Nasya shivered involuntarily. “Now, Nasya, I want you to close your eyes for me.” Nasya did and it made it worse. Though she could not see the mob around them, she could feel them. They seemed so close, and she expected to collide with somebody at any moment. Frank said, “I want you to repeat what I say.” Nasya nodded quickly hoping for Frank to hurry up. “The world is full of people, but none of them know what I’m thinking.” “The world is full of people and none of them know what I’m thinking,” parroted Nasya without hearing the words as she said them. “Good,” said Frank. “Just keep repeating that over and over in your mind.” Frank watched as Nasya concentrated and mouthed the words to herself.

67 “You see Nasya, so much of what you see around you isn’t there at all. The world is how we see it. There is no community of humans, society is an illusion. All there is is ourselves. For some people this feeling of absolute aloneness and uniqueness is horrible, but if you embrace it, it can be invigorating and comforting at the same time.” Nasya was not listening. She was focused on the words she repeated to herself. “The word is full of people and none of them know what I’m thinking.” It seemed so silly. So foolish, and childish. “The word is full of people and none of them know what I’m thinking.” Frank was talking still, but Nasya could not hear him. She began to feel the crowds of people receding in the dark. She no longer felt the crowd swarming around her. “The word is full of people and none of them know what I’m thinking.” It was so simple. She was a distinct universe wholly unto herself. Everything around her only exited when she took notice of it. “The word is full of people and none of them know what I’m thinking.” Nasya could hear Frank talking now. “Now, Nasya open your eyes.” Nasya opened her eyes and saw once again the mobs of people rushing by them. “Now look at all those people there. Look at each of them and know they don’t know what you think. Your mind and self are completely separate from them and they can’t affect you or even know.” The crowd of Grand Central Station grew in clarity to Nasya. Instead of a mass of people she began to see each individual making their way across the floor. She stared at an older man pulling a large suitcase behind him. The man wore a stern expression. Before, Nasya would have shrunk from him. Now she realized that he could never know her. She was separate and apart. The feeling made her laugh out loud. The old man was startled and gave her a mean glower, but it did not affect Nasya. She looked at Frank and his face betrayed an unusual smile. “See how people look now. Once you have given yourself up to your isolation, it gives you a new perspective. You can look at people in a whole new way. Petty social customs no longer seem so important, and you have an objective means of seeing each individual for what they are. Can you see it?” Nasya looked over the crowd of people and realized they were not a crowd. They were not an indistinct mob. They were hundreds of isolated individuals. Each of them was utterly alone in their thoughts. And although the world was full of people none of them knew what they were thinking. “Yes,” Nasya grinned. “I see it.” Nasya looked around herself with great interest. It was a new perspective. By accepting her own isolation, she freed herself from anxiety. It was the same for everyone, they just didn’t know. “So this is why you always look so peaceful.”

68 “Yes,’ Frank answered, “but it is also something else. Something I can’t teach” Frank paused and for a moment looked almost sad. “For me, the separateness of my mind has been marked on my body. I can move amongst strangers without them ever seeing me. I can talk to someone for hours and they will never remember me.” It made sense to Nasya. This is what she had seen of Frank. This is what had attracted her to him. He could disappear. He could walk through any group of people with impunity and casualness, because he knew that he had made himself beneath notice to everyone it seemed except Nasya. “I do not know how it happened, or why, or when. I just became somewhat indistinct, transparent. I’m a ghost. Everyone just looks right though me.” Nasya detected something in his voice she had never heard before. “You almost sound resentful,” she said. “Well, it does have its benefits.” Frank left Nasya’s side and walked over to the information booth where a man in an executive raincoat was arguing with the teller. She watched as Frank leaned over the man to look at the brochure rack. Frank turned and showed her something that had appeared in his hand. Nasya squinted and realized that Frank had taken the man’s wallet. Nasya could only stare openmouthed as Frank casually rifled through the billfold removing the money and the photographs. He inserted a small white card into the wallet. He leaned back across the man, taking a map from the rack and returning the wallet to the inner pocket of the man’s raincoat. The man barely paused in his argument with the teller. Frank walked away with only Nasya’s eyes on him. “Sometimes I like to pick their pockets,” Frank told her. “I always give them their wallets back but I take their cash and their photos.” Nasya was shocked. She had never seen anything like what she had just seen Frank do. She did not imagine it to be possible. “Why do you take their photos?” Nasya finally asked. “I don’t know,” answered Frank. “I like to look at them. It lets me know more about the person I just stole from. Or maybe I am just vain and like to keep a record of who I’ve robbed.” “Do you do this... a lot?” “Everyday almost. It pays the bills.” Nasya did not know what to think. Part of her was appalled, but that was the part of her that she was trying to escape. The newer part of Nasya was delighted. “And what was the little card you put in before you returned it?” “I guess I am vain. I always leave a calling card.” He handed her one of his cards and she looked closely at it. “World’s Greatest Pickpocket,” she read aloud. “Aren’t you afraid you will get caught and these cards will get you linked to more people?” “Honestly, no. I’ve never been caught, and I doubt the people who find the cards ever report them to the police. I don’t take that much, and I never take their

69 credit cards so they have very little to complain about. Plus, I think most of them enjoy it.” “You think they enjoy being robbed?” “Sure. When they get that card they are shocked that someone could do such a thing. Usually they spend the next few hours trying to think of who could possibly have gotten close enough to them to have taken it. And how they could have returned it. I like to think they end up being impressed. Besides it puts a little excitement in their lives.” Nasya hands back the card. “Do you think I could do it?” “Do what?” Nasya looked over to the information kiosk where the man Frank pick- pocketed had been standing. “You want to steal someone’s wallet?” Frank asked surprised. “Yes,” Nasya said, “I do.” Frank shrugged. “Why not?”

8.4

Over the next two hours, Frank gave Nasya a crash course in the finer points of separating men from their wallets. In the privacy of an out of the way corner, Nasya practiced taking Frank’s own billfold from his back pocket. “The secret,” Frank told her, “is not to remove the wallet so delicately that the mark can’t feel it being taken, but to distract him, so that his occupied brain does not notice the pull. There are three ways to do this: misdirection, movement, and pressure. Here take this.” Frank handed Nasya his wallet. “Put it in your pocket.” “Right,” said Nasya. “Sorry.” She put his wallet in her front pocket and Frank continued. “The first technique is the simplest. If your mark is paying attention to something else, he’s less likely to notice you. This can be anything, a street performer, an attractive woman, even a loud noise.” Frank held out his right arm straight out to his size and snapped three times. “That’s all it takes,” said Frank. “What?” Frank showed the wallet in his left hand. This time he put it back in his own back pocket. “The second technique, movement, is to use the motion of either the mark, or the environment, to mask your action. A mark may stoop to pick up some loose change. When he does, his wallet need not stoop with him. His action of bending aids in the lift. The same is true in subway trains. The train jolts up and down. You wait, and as the train moves, so does the wallet. Here you do it.”

70 “How?” “We’ll pretend we are on a train. You are standing behind me. Reach down and hold the wallet with your index and middle fingers. Do not try to move it, just hold it.” Nasya did as directed. but not without turning red. “OK we are on a train.” Frank began swaying back and forth. Nasya laughed but did not let go. “Here comes a jolt. Just hold on.” Frank hopped to his left, leaving his wallet in Nasya’s hand. She handed it back with a smile. “Good. The third way is usually called the bump. It’s easy enough, you use impact to cover up the feeling of the lift. This is tough for the novice because it entails contact with the mark. It is difficult because you have to hit hard enough to distract them, but soft enough so they won’t notice it as strange.” “I don’t know if I could run into someone.” “No, probably not at first. We’ll work on the first two.” It was harder than Nasya expected and she was not a quick learner. She was too hesitant and it caused her hand to shake. But Frank kept giving her pointers and building her confidence until she could almost reach into his pocket without laughing. “It’s so hard!” Nasya said while forcing the giggles from her voice. “In Columbia there is supposedly a secret academy where they train pickpockets. It’s called the school of the seven bells. Supposedly, for the final exam, the student has too remove seven bells from a clothed mannequin without a single one making a sound.” “I bet you could do it.” “I actually have a mannequin in my closet that I use to practice on.” Nasya laughed. “In Georgia, the country, the pickpockets use razor blades. They can discretely slice open a man’s jacket or a woman’s purse and remove the contents without the person knowing.” “Have you done that?” “I probably could, but I don’t like the idea of damaging someone’s clothing or purse. Especially if I don’t need too.” Nasya was impressed but was also beginning to have doubts about following through with her impulse to pick a pocket. She did not know if she could muster the self control. Frank seemed to be aware of her hesitance. “You know it’s actually much easier for two people than with one,” he said. “Good,” Nasya answered. “I don’t think I could do it myself.” “Here’s what we’ll do. We will approach someone together and ask for directions. Preferably an older man. He will think you are pretty and want to help us.” Nasya blushed but Frank continued without pretending to notice. He took out the map he had taken earlier. “I’ll then unfold this map and you’ll ask him where the Soho Market is.” “Where is the Soho Market?”

71 “There isn’t one, but the mark won’t want to admit to a pretty girl that he doesn’t know. He will know where Soho is so he’ll look at the map and try to figure it out.” “Why not just ask where Union Square is?” “Because if he knows where it is, he won’t have to look at the map. He’ll just tell us to take the green line downtown.” “Oh, I see. The point is to actually make him look at the map.” “Exactly, to get him distracted. I’ll hold out the map like this...” Frank held the map out wide like he was reading a newspaper. “Meanwhile you stand to his right side as if to look over his shoulder. Then while he looks at the map you just reach in as I showed you and take hold of his wallet. Then, when I thank him and fold up the map, you let the wallet slide right out and quickly put it in your purse. Understand?” Nasya nodded. “Do you still want to do this?” asked Frank. “I do,” Nasya said firmly. “Good.” Nasya and Frank returned to the main concourse of Grand Central Station. Rush hour had passed, but there were still a fair amount of people making their way across the tiled floor. Frank pointed out a mark and they approached him together as planned. Nasya chickened out with the first mark and the second one as well. It did not bother Frank. He just insisted they wait a while before approaching someone else. He did not want to arouse suspicion. The third mark was a large fat man wearing a loose baggy suit. This time Nasya had no trouble getting her little hand into his pocket. The fat man pretended to know exactly where the Soho Market was. He suggested they head down to Broome Street and walk west. Nasya fought her nerves and held her hand motionless, gripping the wallet tightly between her two fingers. Finally Frank thanked the man and folded his map. As the fat man moved away, his wallet came out into her hand. She quickly thrust it into her open purse as Frank had told her to. “I’ve got it!” she whispered as they walked away. “I can’t believe I got it.” “Give it here,” said Frank. Nasya discreetly handed him the wallet and he removed the cash and the pictures with practiced ease. He was about to insert the card when Nasya stopped him. She took out a pen and made the following additions to the card before letting him slip it back in.

F.T. and N.S. World’s Greatest PickpocketS

Frank smiled widely and hustled off after the fat man. He caught up with him at near the exit and knocked shoulders with him as he passed. The fat man glanced up at Frank angrily, but just as quickly looked away. Nasya could not believe the man did not recognize Frank as the person asking directions moments ago. Nasya was in awe. She did not even see the exchange. Frank

72 was too fast. The time earlier, he must have slowed down his motion over a hundred times so that she could watch it unfold. It was flawless. When Frank returned to her she gave him a hug that surprised them both. “I can’t believe we did it! I’ve never done anything like that before.” “You did it well I think,” said Frank almost sheepishly. “And I didn’t even see it when you returned the wallet, you’re really good aren’t you?” Frank might have even blushed a little. “That’s what the card says.” Nasya was filled with a feeling of accomplishment. She could not believe she was able to do something so unlike her. “We should leave,” said Frank. “He may not remember me but I’m sure he’ll remember you.” “Leave,” said Nasya. “Yes.” She looked at her watch. “Oh no.” “What?” said Frank quickly worried and looking over his shoulder. “I’m late. I was supposed to be at the restaurant an hour ago.” She looked at Frank who was standing there once again with his usual neutral expression. “Thank you,” Nasya said. “Thank you so much.” “It’s nothing” “No it’s not.” She paused. “I have to go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed his cheek quickly and casually before running from the station to catch a cab.

73 CHAPTER 9

Nasya rushed into the her apartment, struggling to get her shirt over her head. She had hoped to get a quick shower before having to run off again. The Good Doctor was waiting for her at his favorite restaurant. She was going to be late anyway. As she tore off her clothes, she noticed that the Good Doctor had laid out a dress as well as matching shoes and accessories for her to wear. Seeing the clothes laying there on the bed brought forth an unforeseen bout of fury. She quickly put back on the same sweaty clothes she had run home in. She did not care. The restaurant was only a few blocks from their home. It was an upscale place with a reputation for being both snooty and expensive. The Good Doctor loved it. He was a regular and even had what he considered his own private table. Nasya was mostly indifferent to the place, but was fond of the house salad dressing. It was a type of Italian, but she could never tell what they put in it that made it so good. Nasya was still sad and angry from Estelle’s memorial service. The feelings of guilt had never fully receded. But she was also still filled with adrenaline from her foray into petty thievery. But with each step Nasya felt herself calming down. It wasn’t the mind exercises that Frank taught her, although those did do wonders for her. Nor was it the recklessness of stealing from the fat man. It was something else. She felt as if she had awakened from a pleasant nap, and wasn’t tired for the first time in a long time. When she arrived at the restaurant the matr’d took in her attire with a look of disapproval. The old Nasya would have been mortified, but the new Nasya didn’t care. She was oddly proud that her clothes were not proper. She wanted to be different, and she didn’t care what the glorified waiter thought. The Good Doctor stood to greet her. He was dressed very finely in a tuxedo Nasya had not seen before. This was more formal than usual, but then the Good Doctor had always taken great pride in his appearance. She watched him as his eyes flitted over her own choice of outfit. His face assumed the same expression she had seen on the matr’d. “Nasya why aren’t you in the dress I laid out for you?” asked the Good Doctor with controlled pleasantness. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was running late, I didn’t have time to run by the apartment, Did you lay something out?” Nasya answered. It felt good to lie to his face. “Yes well no matter,” said the Good Doctor with an air of forced casualness. Nasya could see that it did bother him. Something was different tonight. She had known the Good Doctor would be annoyed at her for not wearing what he had laid out, but instead of being irritated he seemed disappointed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone watching her. She turned her head but the woman looked away. What was going on?

74 The Good Doctor had taken the liberty of ordering for her. He had gone to excess tonight. There was the best of everything on the table. Nasya had just wanted a green salad with the dressing that she liked. But the Good Doctor insisted that they eat escargot, foi-gras, and other delicacies that Nasya did not care for. The Good Doctor ordered a very expensive wine and lectured Nasya on how to properly enjoy it. Nasya twirled the wine in her glass as instructed and took a long sniff with her nose below the brim. Nasya did not care if the wine had a hint of lilac, but she did as the Good Doctor bid her out of habit and without thinking. All the while she was nursing strong feelings of paranoia. She felt like she was being watched. Nasya sensed the stares of strangers observing her as she took each bite from her plate. She tried closing her eyes and repeating the mantra Frank had shared with her. “The world is filled with people and none of them know what I am thinking,” she told herself inwardly. She opened her eyes to see the Good Doctor looking at her curiously. Nasya felt herself blush in the back of her neck. Then, over the Good Doctor’s shoulder Nasya saw a woman she knew. It was her old college roommate who was supposed to be living in Chicago. Why would she come to New York without telling her? And why was she pretending not to see her? Nasya looked around the room and began to see more and more people she recognized. Most were associates of The Good Doctor’s but in the far corner Nasya was shocked to see her own mother and sister covering their faces with menus. Nasya had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something horrible was about to happen. She looked back at the Good Doctor who had removed his eating hands. This was not unusual. The Good Doctor always carried with him a briefcase filled with dozens of different hands for any occasion. He often changed hands several times during a meal. He even had hands customized for whatever wine they had with dinner. But the hands the Good Doctor had screwed onto his arms this time filled Nasya with trepidation. He had obviously been saving them for a special occasion. The hands were made from precious metals and were polished until they glowed with reflective light. They were exquisitely carved with precision to capture all the wrinkles and prints of an actual hand. Even the nails were mother of pearl. When he took Nasya own small, sweaty hands in his cold gleaming metal hands, Nasya knew what was going to happen. He gave her hands a pinching squeeze before standing up with a flourish. All the people who had been pretending not to look now stared openly. Nasya saw her mother looking at her with a knowing smile and gave her the tiniest of nods. Her sister was smiling as well, but noticeably jealous. Even from across the room Nasya could feel her sister’s dislike of her. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at Nasya. It suddenly made her remember her clothes. She felt dirty, sweaty, and uncomfortable. “You bastard,” she told the Good Doctor quietly in her mind. Her lips were sealed shut with the nervous smile of someone who might make a run for it at any moment. The Good Doctor was talking but she could not understand any of

75 it until he awkwardly kneeled on one of his prosthetic limbs and removed a large diamond ring from his pocket. “And so Nasya I want you to be my wife,” said the Good Doctor loudly and clearly, so that everyone in attendance could hear. It was not really a question, but he looked up at her and she knew she had to say something. Her room was spinning. Everyone was staring at her waiting. To her horror, she noticed that some patrons of the restaurant were even video taping the event, and almost all of them held cameras. What was she supposed to do? The room was silent. Even people who did not know her were now looking at her expectantly. She knew what they wanted. If she said anything but yes, the people out there would hate her. How could he do this to her? How could he put her in this position? She longed to throw the vase of flowers at him and run from the restaurant without looking back. But she couldn’t. Those people were all watching. And the Good Doctor was looking up at her with a smugness that had never revolted her as much as it did now. None of Frank’s mind exercises could help her. The Good Doctor had her trapped and there was only one thing she could do. “Yes,” Nasya whispered quietly. “Speak up darling. Let everyone hear,” the Good Doctor replied. Nasya looked around at all the people staring back at her. Tears were coming into her eyes. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. “Of course, I’ll marry you,” Nasya said shakily. There was a collective sigh and the Good Doctor struggled to his feet putting the obscenely large diamond on her finger. There was loud clapping from all the restaurant’s patrons and staff. Nasya could not see through her tears. This makes the audience smile. They all think she is happy. Nasya was approached on all sides by well-wishers. They congratulated her. They gave her hugs and kisses. She could not talk. She stood there as they formed a line to embrace her. She wanted was to go home., but she couldn’t. If Frank were there he could disappear. All Nasya could do was try to smile as each face greeted her and kissed her on the cheek. The Wyatts were there. They had both changed their clothes since the memorial service for their newly dead daughter. Mrs. Wyatt now wore a light blue cocktail dress. She squeezed Nasya’s arm as she passed, wishing her all the best and every happiness in the world. Finally, the line was at an end, with only her mother left. Mrs. Cap’s eyes were also filled with tears. She gave Nasya a long, enveloping hug. “I am so proud of you,” she said. Nasya could not hold back anymore and wept into her mother’s shoulder. It was too much. At least her father was not there. That alone gave Nasya some comfort.

76 9-2

The Good Doctor caught Nasya before she made it past the lobby. She had forgotten her ring on the bedside table. He made her promise not to be careless with it and told her how incredibly expensive it was. Nasya listened to him blank-faced and wished she had forgotten the ring in the bathroom waste basket beneath used tissues. After the lecture, the Good Doctor unexpectedly took Nasya in his arms and kissed her. It was uncomfortable and Nasya remembered why they never kissed in public. The Good Doctor’s balance was not perfect, and he tottered as he tried to hold himself up close to her. Nasya was aware of the watching doorman and pulled herself away. The Good Doctor stumbled a little before catching himself and regaining his dignity. “We are going to have a wonderful life,” he said before turning on his prosthetic heel and heading back toward the elevator bank. Nasya waited until the elevator doors shut before taking off the gaudy ring and sticking it in her purse. Nasya was planning to avoid Frank if she could. But when she arrived at the hospital she immediately went looking for him. The day before Frank had helped her cope with Estelle’s memorial service. She knew he could help her with this. Nasya needed to tell him how she had been trapped, and how awful it was. She was sure he would understand. Maybe he could help. He knew about the Good Doctor. He had even met him on one the few visits the Good Doctor made to Holden House Frank was nowhere to be found. Nasya checked all the rooms and hallways, but saw no sign. None of the doctors, nurses, or patients reported seeing him all morning although few of the physicians and nurses even knew who Frank was. Finally she found him sitting alone in the cafeteria. She nearly ran across the tile floor to his table. Sitting down, her mouth was ready to tell Frank everything that had happened to her since they last parted. But as she looked across at Frank she found she could not say a word of it. She was suddenly fearful that he might ask her a question. But Frank sat quietly. He hardly looked at her. Nasya could see something was bothering him. It was odd to see him like this. Frank was never troubled by anything. Seeing his normally stoic face creased in consternation frightened Nasya. She mumbled some excuse and went back upstairs to Malcolm’s room. He was asleep. He had been asleep for the past three days. Nasya was careful never to say coma. And Malcolm would come out of it like he had countless times before. She smiled at him and patted his horn. This poor child, and she was feeling sorry for herself for reasons she didn’t even understand. She could be happy. She was engaged to a rich, handsome doctor who showered her with presents. She could be happy. She could be busy planning their wedding . She could be fussing over china patterns and guest lists. She could be trying on her dress in front of a long mirror

77 gushing. But she wasn’t. She held Malcolm’s hand. She didn’t know anything else to do. Nasya did not cry. She had cried too much the day before. To cry now would be out of a habit. She kept looking at the doorway. She hoped that Frank would materialize there as he had done before. Yesterday, and the first day. He was always there. Now his absence made Nasya realize that Frank could no longer disappear. Not for her. Not if she missed him when he was gone. She left Malcolm to his dreams and went back to the cafeteria. Frank was gone. This time she found outside, standing at the subway entrance. He stood right in the middle of the stairway, forcing everyone to walk around him. He looked up at her as if he had been expecting her and climbed up the couple steps between them. Nasya began formulating words in her mind. She wanted him to know. But Frank was the first to speak. “You know Nasya it’s not good. To be like I am. To always be isolated and apart from everything... and everyone.” Nasya was confused. She had not expected this from him. She could see him struggling to explain himself. It bothered her. “I’m jealous of you Nasya,” Frank continued. “You are affected by things. I remember the first time I came here and I found you with tears in your eyes. You said you were glad that you cried. It made me want to cry. But I couldn’t. I saw the same thing you did in the kids, but I could never break out of my... this thing.” How could he be jealous of her? Couldn’t he tell how miserable she was? “You are a good person Nasya. Most people who do what you do would do it so they could look at themselves and know that they are a good person. But I know you have never thought that way. You just do it because you have empathy. I’ve always respected that.” Nasya had lost everything she had been planning to tell Frank. She couldn’t talk at all. So Frank kept going. “I can tell you are... confused sometimes. But that’s just because the rest of the world doesn’t think like you. The rest of the world thinks only in relationship to themselves. I know that, because that’s how I think. Everything we do is to add up to some vision of ourselves we keep in our heads. We try to live the lives we think are who we are, and we never stop to question it. But you’re not like that Nasya. And I wish I was like you, and I feel like I need to be around you. I think that If I am around you I can stop being so apart. I won’t have to disappear.” Nasya realized that this was the most she had ever heard Frank talk. It was also the first time she had ever heard him say anything truly personal. He had poured his heart out and was looking at her now expectedly. Bewildered, all Nasya could think to say was, “Frank I’m engaged.” “Oh,” he answered. “Last night. Frank it was awful” But Frank did not hear her. He was already shifting uncomfortably toward the stairs.

78 “Congratulations,” he managed to force out as he quickly descended away from her. Nasya watched him leave. “Thank you,” she said, but immediately felt horrible about.

9.3

Frank was at a loss. He couldn’t think of what to do. But he remembered who he was. And how no one on the planet could understand his thoughts. He was apart. He was his own entity and a world unto himself. That made him feel better. Nothing could affect him . He was untouchable. Nasya was engaged. It was nothing to him. No one in the planet knew what he was thinking. His consciousness was his alone. And his consciousness was the world. There was nothing else. Yet Frank felt a restlessness that he could not ignore. He could not stand still. The subway platform was crowded. The train was late and more and more people were descended the stairs only to wait aimlessly. Frank stood at the edge where the ceramic tiles were shaped like the tops of legos. He rocked back and forth on his feet feeling the protruding circles through his soles. He craned his neck looking for approaching lights down the tunnel. For the first time in his memory the crowd was making Frank uncomfortable. He did not want to be around people. With one more look leftward, Frank hopped down onto the tracks themselves. Careful not to touch the third rail, Frank began walking along the tracks until he passed from view into the darkness of the long corridor. No one noticed the lone man leap off the platform, but no one ever noticed Frank except Nasya. She had noticed Frank. But she had only noticed how unnoticeable he was. So that didn’t count. Frank walked for a long time. It was often pitch black but Frank could feel his way through the tunnel. Whenever a train caught up to him, he would step lightly to the side and let it rush by. He kept going. It was not that Frank was upset or sad. He could not slow his thoughts down enough for him to get any kind of grasp on them. It was not the news of the engagement. He had known on some level that Nasya was involved with the limb-less man. It was his own reaction that jolted him. Why did he suddenly have a desire to flee? Why did he so easily succumb to that desire? It was not that he had shared something he believed in with Nasya. It was not that he had finally been forced to admit that he didn’t believe in it anymore. It was not a lot of things. But that’s what it was. Something he couldn’t name. Frank could not understand what was causing his distress. What Frank felt was an overwhelming and infuriating lack of clarity. Frank walked past many more stations. Sometimes people gaped at him as he walked below them. But usually they did not notice, or if they saw him they

79 just assumed he was supposed to be there. He walked past several workmen who never looked up. For a while the tracks went above ground and Frank found himself walking high above the streets below. He kept walking, keeping his eyes focused straight in front of him. When he came to the end of the line, he pulled himself up off the track. He was in Coney Island, Brooklyn. He stepped out onto the street and lost himself in a neighborhood that he was completely unfamiliar with. Waylon would know where he was. Frank kept walking, hoping to make his way to a major street. Lots of cars sped past but none were cabs that could take him back to Manhattan. Frank sat on the curb and wished he had a drink. It was then that he looked up and saw the door nestled between a bodega and a Chinese take out that bore the scratched initials, SAS.

9.4 Frank shuffled down the stairs into the subterranean bar room. Everyone in the saloon turned to eye him as he sat himself down on an ancient stool. Frank feel oddly visible. The clientele of Sam’s Anarchist Saloon were a motley collection of timeless old-timers in various degrees of dereliction. The man next to Frank was wearing early sixties casual wear but his pale green sweater and madras pants had faded to near gray in color. He had racing forms spread across the counter in front of him and was muttering to himself . Frank ordered a bourbon sour from the silent bartender. He took a long drink, but was distracted by a sudden tug on his shoulder. It was the man in the old faded sweater. “Buy us a drink, lad and I will show you how to pick the winners, yes?” Frank could not respond to the old man before his other shoulder was tugged on by an even older man with an extraordinary mustache and an extremely outdated suit and tie. “No, son, buy me a drink and I will share the art of high finance. I will show you the strings and where to pull them.” This upset the first old man, who eyed the interloper harshly. The walrus- mustached man looked straight back at him. Frank would have bought them both a drink if not for a third old man squeezing himself between Frank and the old man with the sweater. “I can teach you how to pick every lock ever made? How about it?” Frank hesitated as all three men looked at him intensely demanding an answer. Then from the back corner of the bar, a white haired old codger hoarsely made himself heard above the din. “For the price of a drink, I will impart the secret true natures of women.” Frank turned to look at the man who hadn’t left his seat in the far corner. He was a large man wearing a coarse gray woolen sweater and a Greek fisherman’s hat. The other men looked back and forth among themselves

80 nervously. But the old man in the corner did not move a muscle. It is not hard for Frank to decide. “What will it be, Grandpa?” Frank called out to the old man. The old man motioned to the bartender. “He knows.” The silent barman stood on a stool to retrieve an ancient dust covered bottle from the back cupboard. The other men mumbled disappointedly to themselves and returned to their own places at the bar. The barkeep poured a light green liquid from the ancient bottle into a small glass. Frank thanked him and carried the now frothing glass to the old man in the corner. The old man said nothing at first. He licked his lips and drained the strange green beverage eagerly. He took the empty glass and placed it upside down in the middle of the table and leaned as far back as his wooded chair would allow. Frank took the other vacant chair. “Son, at the very heart of it all, all women truly are goddesses,” the old man said with an air of finality. “That’s it?” Frank was beginning to think he had been taken. “No that’s not it, shut up and let me talk.“ The old man glared angrily at Frank. Frank lowered his eyes and tried to make himself look meek. The old man started again: “As I was saying women are goddesses. Knowing that don’t mean much. The secret is understanding what kind of goddess they are. There are essentially four natures of women, each personified by a greek goddess. They are Hera, Aphrodite, Athena, and Artemis.” The old man stopped and looked at Frank as if expecting a comment. Frank was silent and this pleased the old man, so he continued. “Of the four, Hera is the most common of all. I’d say maybe 50, 60 percent of all women are Heras. Your know who Hera is right?” “Zeus’s wife,” answered Frank. “Zeus’s wife, and sister, but not much else. She is married to Zeus so that makes her the queen of gods but only by marriage. She isn’t particularly wise or kind. In fact she is needy, jealous, cruel, vindictive, and selfish. She gains her status from her husband, without him she’d be nothing.” The old man spit on the floor. “But I guess she does love Zeus in her way. Otherwise she wouldn’t get so jealous. And she’s good and taking care of a man in the maternal sense. She has her good qualities. She’s devoted. But my point is she may be Zeus’s wife, but she’s just a woman. Ordinary. The majority women are Heras. Ordinary, they need a man to define them and give them a position. Most people’s wives and mothers are this type. “Now the next most common type of woman is an Aphrodite. You know her don’t you?” “The goddess of love,” answered Frank. “I would have thought she would be the rarest.” “No, most people make that mistake.”

81 The old man picked up his glass but realized it was empty, and put it back down sadly. “Truth is,” the old man continued. “She ain’t much of a goddess of love. Does a goddess of love cuckold her poor crippled husband every chance she gets? No. Aphrodite is the goddess of sex and desire. Some women of this persuasion are naturally a little... fast. Well, kind of trampy. They’re lots of words for it. But you know what I mean.” Frank nodded. “You see an Aphrodite doesn’t love any particular man. They love what that man can give them. Pleasure. It doesn’t have to be sex, it can be jewelry, clothes, money, anything. But these women have no loyalty to any one man. When a man can’t give them pleasure they find a new one. “These women can be sexy, sensuous, elegant, and inviting, but you can’t trust them. They have the power to destroy men and they use it. But they can be... pleasurable, and it is hard for any man to resist them, even if you know what they are. Now a lot of these are whores and temptresses, but really they can be just about any woman you meet nowadays. It can be very hard to tell at first if a woman is an Aphrodite. But you should beware because they are hazardous.” “I understand,” said Frank. “ Stay away from the beautiful ones.” “No, I didn’t say that,” The old man snapped. “Sexuality does not make a woman more beautiful that another. Remember Paris and the golden apple. Poor bastard had to judge Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena on who was the most fair. Of course he couldn’t tell. They were all beautiful in different ways. Like all women. I don’t mean to give you the impression that one of these types is better than the other. They all have pros and cons. To understand is to love. And I understand women. Well mostly, I don’t think anyone can really understand them, but I understand them better then most.” “Who did Paris choose?” asked Frank. “Aphrodite. But only because she bribed him. Which says a lot about who she is. She’s a harlot, a back stabber, and a gold digger, but she can make you feel like a million bucks when you are in her arms.” The old man’s eyes unfocused for a moment as he lost himself in a distant memory. Frank cleared his throat The old man grumbled and then continued. “The next goddess is much harder to come by than the other two, but still easy enough to find. She is Athena. Athena is smart, confident, ambitious but with a tendency to be vain, and self-involved. Unlike the other two, the Athena doesn’t need a man to get by. She’s self-reliant. She defines for herself who she is and doesn’t allow anyone to control her. To love her is to enter with her as a partner. She will love you, care for you, but she will never need you. And if she doesn’t love you, she can be very cold. Even if she does, love for Athena is more of a mutual respect that an emotional attachment. “The good thing if you are lucky enough to have an Athena’s love, is that she loves you for you, not for something you can do for her. She isn’t concerned with position like a Hera, or pleasure like Aphrodite. But she can be willful and stubborn. She isn’t known to be the most understanding of women.”

82 The old man smiled at Frank. He was pleased that he had the younger man’s attention. “Those, my boy, are the three main natures of womankind. Of these three, there are sometimes some mixing and matching. A woman can be part Hera, and part Aphrodite and so forth. But most women, despite having attributes of another, can be identified by a single goddess. There is always one that is stronger than the others.” “Didn’t you say there were four?” asks Frank. “Good,” said the old man. “You’ve been paying attention. The fourth nature, is that of the virgin goddess of the hunt, Artemis. Unlike the others she is always pure and never mixed with the natures of any other goddess. “The Artemis is the rarest of women. Perhaps one in a million, maybe less. There are no adjectives to describe her. She is what she is, and to know her is to love her. But she lets no one actually know her. If by a slim chance a man learns to see her for who she is, then he will fall hopelessly in love with her. He will be consumed by her. All his life will pale in significance. Existence will become two extremes, either the joy of her presence or the agony of her absence. And usually it’s the agony.” “Sounds awful” “It is, but if that man can somehow manage to win her heart. Then her love will be returned with equal fervor. For the Artemis loves with her entire being. And such joy is found no where else in the universe.” The old man’s eyes began to glaze as he talked. Frank was lost in the spell of the old man’s emotion. But he collected himself. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “The catch?” the old man repeated. “ Yes, there is a catch. A big one.” The old man lowed his voice for emphasis. “Artemis. She may love you with all her heart and soul, but she will probably kill you.” “What? Why?” The old man shrugged. “Fear, I think. She is frightened by the intensity of her emotion. She feels like it is overcoming her and changing her into someone else. She panics. And there is nothing the man can do but suffer.” Frank was stunned into silence. “I’ll show you something.” The old man leaned forward and whispered. “This was done by a single arrow.” The old man lifted his sweater and revealed a large stomach and a barrel chest. But in the middle of his chest was a hole. It was about the size of a quarter. It went all the way through his body. Frank could see the back of the chair through it. The old man covered his wound and leaned back once again in his wooden chair. “Well, young man, that’s all I know. I hope you found that worth the price of a drink.”

83 It took Frank several moments to get over the sight of the man’s wound. The old man was forced to repeat himself loudly so that Frank can come out of his spell. With his attention back on the present Frank smiled at the old man in the Greek fisherman’s hat. “That was well worth it,” said Frank. “In fact it was worth another.” Frank beckoned the barkeep who stood back up on the stool to retrieve the bottle. The old man laughed out loud and slapped Frank coarsely on the shoulder. “That’s a good boy. “ The bartender carried over another small glass of churning green liquid. The old man took the drink happily and drained it all in one long fluid motion. Then he smiled and turned his attention back to Frank. “Now tell me something,” The old man began. “Who is she?” “I’m sorry?” “The girl, I can see the condition you’re in.” Frank was flustered. “Honestly, I don’t think...” “Ha,” the old man exploded in laughter. “you didn’t even know did you? You’re in trouble” Frank began to protest but he was suddenly caught with an image of Nasya crying in the hospital. It hurt him. The thought of her made his chest hurt. He felt like he had swallowed an ice cube that just wouldn’t melt. It was painful. The old man stopped laughing. “Oh fella, you have it bad,” the old man said solemnly. “Tell me, what kind of goddess is she?” Frank’s pain subsided a little as he forced his mind to became analytical. “Well,” Frank began “She’s not a Hera. Definitely not an Aphrodite. Athena? No I don’t so. She must be...” “Oh no” “Artemis.” The two of them suddenly became quiet and uncomfortable. Finally, the old man broke the silence. “Poor, poor boy. You’re screwed.” Frank could not answer. “Hey Sam this man needs a drink more than me, get him something strong on my tab,” called the old man. The barkeep nodded, but Frank shook his head. “No, I just have to clear my head.” Frank stood up and started for the door. “Son,” called out the old man. “Be careful.” Frank nodded solemnly and walked out the door to find himself on the corner of 14th street and 3rd avenue.

84 85 CHAPTER 10

Nasya sat on the far edge of the claw footed bathtub. She was vaguely aware of the Good Doctor pleading through the keyhole for her to please hurry. She knew he was annoyed at being late to their own engagement party. She could hear as paced back and forth between the locked bathroom door and the front hallway. Nasya was wearing the dress he had chosen for the occasion, as well as the shoes, necklace, and tennis bracelet. She was not wearing the engagement ring. It sat on the sink covered with a washcloth. She had been halfway though applying mascara when she froze with only one eye done. The image in the mirror disturbed her. In the past, she had treated her reflection casually. She was not the type to check her looks in the reflective surfaces of elevator doors or glass storefronts. But as she held the small brush to her eye it struck her that the face that looked back from inches away was not just her reflection but was actually her. She was not the bubble that surrounded her head. She was a face. “Who is this person?” Nasya wondered to herself. “What does this face say to people? Is it a friendly face? An intelligent face? A sad face? Is there anything there at all?” It was those thoughts that drove Nasya away from the mirror to the edge of the bathtub. She was frozen. Nasya could not force herself to return to the unfamiliar face in the reflection. “Why did the Good Doctor want her to be his wife? What was it about this face that made him think she was the one to marry?” Nasya was tired. She hated questioning herself all the time. She hated never knowing how to feel. She wanted to just feel. As she sat there avoiding the mirror a sneaking suspicion emerged in her consciousness that nothing she was experiencing was real. The world did not exist outside the four walls of the bathroom. Beyond the confines of white tile there was absolute nothingness. Even time did not exist. The present moment was the first and last moment there would ever be. All her memories were false. Everything had been an illusion. There was no world, only this. It was awful beyond words. She found it hard to breathe. This room could not be Nasya’s world. This life could not be all there really was. For the first time in Nasya’s adult life she prayed. It was not directed to a deity. It was a silent plea, directed outward into the universe to whomever could hear it. She begged that this was not all there was. The Good Doctor’s knocking shook Nasya out of her spiraling thoughts. She left the porcelain edge of the tub and stood braving the intimidating mirror. She tried to look at herself without really looking. She finished her left eye quickly and without precision. She wanted so badly not to care how she looked, but she couldn’t walk away. She wiped her left eye clean and carefully reapplied the mascara.

86 Nasya knew she was supposed to care. She was supposed to be beautiful. Nasya could not handle being the object of others’ disappointment. On top of everything else Nasya did not want to be judged. She would do all that was expected of her. She would dress up in the clothes he chose for her, and smile when he introduced her around. It was the path of least resistance. Nasya turned the corners of the bathroom mirror so she could see reflecting images of her self multiply into infinity. She had done this often as a child. She would pretend that each of the reflections was a long lost sister and talk to them. She wondered what her many twins thought she should do now. But they were silent. Their faces had the same confused expression. Nasya was on her own. “I wonder what a mirror looks like when it’s not reflecting anything?” Nasya asked her sisters. Nasya turned away from them and unlocked the door. The Good Doctor waited there holding her coat and purse. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Come on.” “Why do you want to marry me?” Nasya asked him. The Good Doctor checked his watch and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly,” The Good Doctor answered. “We’re late enough already. Let’s go.” He held Nasya by her upper arm and walked her out through the apartment and out the door. Don’t be silly, Nasya, just go. And she went.

10.2

Although Frank had a near perfect memory when it came to faces, he had a less than average sense of direction. He was often lost. Unlike Waylon, who seemed to always know exactly where he was, Frank often found himself without bearings. His mind would wander off and Frank would forget where he was going or where he was. It was not a bad thing. Frank rarely had anywhere specific to go. So he usually walked until he ended up somewhere he recognized. He could always find his way home, or to major mental landmark like Grand Central Station or Washington Square Park. But if Waylon took him to a certain restaurant, Frank would not be able to find it the next day even with directions. This had never bothered Frank. Often he would just wander around in the general direction until he stumbled upon what he was looking for. If he was determined to go somewhere specific, he could always flag down a cab and trust the West African driver to take him wherever he wanted to go. Frank never felt flustered or confused. However, his lack of spatial awareness proved to be especially irritating when he tried to find the townhouse where Nasya’s family lived. He had thrown away the address long ago and could not remember the cross town streets. He only knew it was somewhere on the Upper West Side.

87 For several hours he had crisscrossed the streets west of the park trying to find something that looked familiar but to no avail. Frank would not give up and finally found the old church where on the day of the birthday party he had sat and watched pedestrians walk by. He knew the house was nearby. He again sat on the steps and tried to remember which direction he had gone. Frank realized that this was the first time he had seen Nasya. She had been wearing a black sweater and had walked across his line of sight coming from the east. Frank stood up and watched his memory of Nasya walk in front of him. He followed his own mental imagining for several blocks until it turned left for one small block and entered into the brownstone he was looking for. He rang the door several times, but there was no answer. Frank was sure it was the right house. He decided that if no one was home, he would wait outside until someone showed up. He turned his back on the entranceway and sat on the steps. Several minutes passed before the door cracked open and an annoyed Russian domestic leaned out primed to scold Frank for blocking the stoop. Frank remembered her. It was Mathilda and she did not look happy. “I need to speak with Nasya,” Frank said before she could speak. “She’s not home,” responded Matilda. She was about to turn and walk back inside but Frank stopped her. “Can you tell me where she is? It’s important.” Mathilda stared down at him crossly. He looked pathetic. Frank could not know it, but Matilda had a hidden soft spot for sad young men. “Hold on,” she said. Matilda shut the door and left Frank alone on the stoop. He waited there for fifteen long minutes before Matilda finally returned and beckoned him to follow. Her amble body led him up the winding staircase all the way to the top where she left him outside the door to an attic study. “In there,” said Matilda not urgently. She turned away and went back down the way they came, mumbling to herself in Russian. Frank waited until she left before opening the door. He found himself in a dark stuffy room. As his eyes adjusted he saw there was a man sitting on a well-used chair staring back at him. He recognized the man immediately although it had been several years since he had last seen him. “So you’re the magician,” said Dr. Cap “Yes sir,” said Frank. Frank did not know what to say. The older man made him slightly nervous. Dr. Cap did not seem to notice Frank’s uneasiness and smiled at him. “My granddaughter, Anna, told me how much she enjoyed your magic show, and she’s not easily impressed.” “Thank you, sir,” said Frank. “But could you tell me where I can find Nasya, I need to speak to her.” The smile faded a notch on Dr. Cap’s face. “Sit down,” he said almost sternly. Frank immediately obeyed, sitting on an old patched up sofa. “Why do you need to see my daughter?” Dr. Cap asked him.

88 “Well sir, I..” Frank mumbled. His mind went blank. He had no idea what he could say to Nasya’s father to make him understand. It was too abstract to even hope to express. “That’s all right,” Dr. Cap said. “I won’t make you say it. I can see it’s still fairly new to you. I just wanted to make sure. I knew something was going on with Nasya. “ Frank was relieved to see the smile return to the older man’s face but could still not find the words to speak. Dr. Cap looked at him with interest. “Do we know each other, son?” he asked. “No sir,” Frank replied. “Hmm, well, I could have sworn,” Dr. Cap continued. “But,” Frank interrupted him “But?” Dr Cap asked. “We did meet once.” Dr. Cap stared at him appraisingly for a long moment. “At the park, you were looking for the Alice in Wonderland statue,” said Dr. Cap. “That’s right,” said Frank. He was surprised that Dr. Cap was able to remember it. “ I trust you found it ok,” the older man said. “Yes sir, you walked me there yourself.” “Did I? That’s right. You were new to city, where did you come you from?” “Minnesota.” “Minnesota, that’s right. But enough about that. Have you heard my daughter’s bad news?” Dr. Cap’s phrasing struck Frank. “I know about the engagement,” he said tentatively. “Then why do you need to talk to her so badly?” “I want her to know, she doesn’t have to go through with it.” It became very quiet between the two of them. Frank began to worry. “So,” the older man finally said, “you are asking me to help you break off my daughter’s engagement to a very prominent physician?” “I’m sorry sir,” said Frank. “I’ll go.” Frank stood up and headed for the door, but Dr Cap took his arm. “Stop,” said Dr. Cap gently. “You did not upset me. You pleased me. Sit back down.” Frank obeyed. Dr. Cap kept talking. “You probably know and I certainly know that this Good Doctor is not right for Nasya. And I don’t know you, but I am going to trust you, do you understand?” “I think so, sir,” said Frank, but he didn’t. Dr. Cap took a piece of scrap paper off an overflowing end table and wrote down an address. He handed the note to Frank. “This is where you can find her. The Good Doctor will have her cooped up there all night.” “Thank you, sir,” he said.

89 Dr. Cap shook his hand in a way that let Frank know he was dismissed. He quickly headed for the door but paused before going out. “Sir?” Frank asked. “What is it? “Last time we met, I took something from you and I’d like to give it back.” The old orthodontist lowered his spectacles at Frank. “And what was that?” Frank took three photographs from his pocket - one of a family, one of a dog, and one of pretty young Hispanic girl. He placed them into Dr. Cap’s outstretched hand. He tried not to look sheepish as Dr. Cap’s eyes grew large. ‘Where did you get these?” “I took them from your wallet,” said Frank, He tried not to look embarrassed. He had never been forced to confess before. “You stole my wallet.” “Yes,sir, but I returned it.” “I see,” said Dr. Cap “Thank you for that.” Dr. Cap stared at his photos and ignored Frank. Frank took this as his cue to leave.

10.3

Worse than anything was seeing her mother in the loud red cocktail dress. It did not suit her at all. And her smile seemed painted on with her make up. Her mother stood at Nasya’s side and gushed over the Good Doctor shamelessly. Nasya could tell something was wrong with her. She seemed frantic in her good nature. All the while she chided Nasya to stand straight and speak up. It wasn’t like her. She had always been bossy with Nasya, but never so tense. Nasya’s father did not attend the engagement party as he had not attended the actual engagement. She had not talked to him since before the Good Doctor had given her the ring. She knew he couldn’t be happy about it. But still, Nasya thought he’d at least show up to the engagement party of his youngest daughter. She was glad that he did not have to witness her weakness in accepting the Good Doctor’s proposal, but now that it was done she wanted him there. She needed someone to be on her side. Nasya did not dare bring this up while her mother stood beside her. Lately Mrs. Silverman had been absolutely venomous about her husband. She made a point of taking Nasya aside and giving her a list of Dr. Cap’s faults. She contrasted that with a list of the Good Doctor’s positive qualities before revealing that her husband had the arrogance to refuse to grant his blessing of the marriage. That had made Nasya feel much worse. Many times Nasya and her father had argued over the years, and Nasya had learned to handle her father being upset with her from time to time, but she never could handle the idea of him being disappointed in her. At their last argument on Anna’s birthday she had

90 defended the Good Doctor. Dr. Cap had sadly told her that he never wanted Nasya to be anything but what she wanted to be. But he never thought she would just give up. It was that last statement that had driven her out of the room. She knew she had given up. She had become engaged to a man she didn’t love just so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. To avoid a scene. Nasya was as dubious about the potential marriage as her father was. She could not imagine her future as the Good Doctor’s wife. She watched him as he walked to and fro between various peers and associates. He glad-handed everyone with the same good cheer. He took her away from her mother’s side and escorted her around the room to greet all the different doctors. A medical professional servicing every part of the human body was present. From the eyes, ears and throat down to the feet. They all had nothing but pleasant things to say to Nasya, and she replied in kind. But she knew how little they cared about her. This was their time to network. They came to this event to make new business connections and to reinforce the old ones. To them, Nasya was just a pretty thing their associate, the Good Doctor, had recently acquired. Most of the men present had their own trophy wives. They were blonde women with too dark tans and taut faces. Some were younger even than Nasya but they all looked much older. Next to her they looked artificial. Hers was such a natural beauty. The Good Doctor enjoyed showing everyone his lovely dark haired bride-to-be in a manner that highlighted this difference. But beyond being mildly impressed the other doctors were unmoved. It was as if the Good Doctor had been showing them a newly purchased golf club. They all agreed it was impressive, but they all secretly knew it would not help his slice. So this was to be Nasya’s life. These empty events. Today she was the center of attention, but tomorrow she would just be another wife. She looked over at the other wives who were all gossiping in a corner. What did they talk about? Would she soon be one of them? Or would they ostracize her? Would she care? Still, she would only have to put out a miniscule amount of effort. So she would have to stand in a crowd of bottle blondes and ridicule whichever one wasn’t there. It wasn’t so bad. Her sister enjoyed it. Hers was the only non- blond head bouncing up and down in conversation. Soon Nasya to could be one of those bobbing heads. Nasya began to rationalize her decision to enter into this life. It was just that - a life -no better and no worse than any other life. No matter what she did with her self, she would never matter that much in the universal scheme of things. So why did it matter to her? Her mother was happy for her, even if Nasya wasn’t. There was always the possibility that this life might grow on her. That maybe if she stuck with it, it might give her some small amount of joy. Some kind of happiness. But again, what was happiness? Nasya could simply not get married. She could end it as soon as they got home that night. She would not have to make a scene at the party. It would be private and personal. She could just say “I don’t want to marry you,” and move back in with her parents. Her father would be happy to see her.

91 But Nasya knew she could never go through with it. Facing the Good Doctor alone would be just as difficult as doing it in public. She might know the words to say but she may not be able to force them out of her mouth. She was not strong enough. Nasya instead gave greater attention to being outgoing. She made a big show of giving a big smile to the next couple she was introduced to. This doctor had stayed with his original wife, or at least his second one. Nasya could tell because the woman was slightly plump and had steel gray hair. Her face looked as if it was most comfortable smiling but to Nasya she gave only a scowl. Nasya made a supreme effort to be charming. She was going to be married to a rich, handsome doctor. It was what all Upper West Side girls wanted. She would have nice things all her life. In time she knew she would appreciate it. She would be the Good Doctor’s wife. She smiled, she laughed, and she shook hands until at last she had been introduced to every person there. After a proper length of time passed, The Good Doctor took her away from the groups to a small table on the fringes of the party. “I have something special to give you,” he told her. With a grin he handed her a small cylinder of something that had been elaborately wrapped. Nasya made sure not to tear the delicate paper as she revealed a small glass bottle with some whitish yellowish gel. It looked like a little bottle of shampoo from a cheap hotel “What is it?” she asked. “Semen,” replied the Good Doctor. Nasya eyebrows almost reached her hairline. “And I have gallons of it,” he continued. Nasya stared at the little glass bottle unsure of how to respond. The Good Doctor smiled very wide. “Why?” Nasya finally asked. The Good Doctor gave her an excited squeeze on both shoulders with his pinchingly strong prosthetic hands. “Don’t you see what this means?” he said. “No, I guess I don’t.” “Children, Nasya, we can have children.” Nasya dropped the small bottle to the floor. It didn’t shatter, but rolled out into the middle of the floor. Nasya was mortified, but no one had taken any notice of it. “It’s ok,” the Good Doctor reassured her. “As I said there’s a lot more of where that came from.” “I don’t know,” Nasya said. It is the only thing she could think to say. It was also the only honest thing she had said all evening. But the Good Doctor failed to recognize its significance. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s mine. I collected it back before my accident.” The Good Doctor’s neck turned slightly red as it did each time he mentioned his accident.

92 “What did you think,” he said, “that I would let you have someone else’s baby? No, it’s all mine, and I have enough on ice for as many of the little monsters as you can stand.” The Good Doctor took her silence for a happy shock. “I knew you were worried about it, babe, does this help put your mind more at ease?” “Yes,” Nasya said. It was the only thing that seemed appropriate to say. “Good, well I have to go mingle, can you stand my absence for a few moments?” he asked. “Please, go ahead I’ll find you.” “Good girl.” He gave her arm another sharp squeeze and made his way back into the throngs of people. Of course there would be children. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The Good Doctor had all those genes to pass on. She did not wonder why the Good Doctor had kept so much semen in reserve as a young man. It was something she did not want to think about. Nasya had not once given any thought to having a family with the Good Doctor. It was too much. For her to give up on her own life was one thing but to raise a child in an environment of apathy and ego mania? To not even give them a chance? No, it was not what she wanted. She should leave right now while the Good Doctor was busy talking to the neurosurgeon from upstate. He would not know she was gone. She would go and get her stuff and disappear. Disappear like Frank, and never be seen again. Nasya needed oxygen. The air of the room had grown unbearable thin. She had to get outside. But she couldn’t. Her body would not follow the commands of her head. She wanted to go, but her body stayed. She was stuck wherever it was. She was trapped again. Nasya looked to her mother for help but she was busy animatedly talking to an older gentlemen. Nasya did not like seeing her mother this way. She seemed so desperate. Nasya had never known her mother to act like this. Normally she was so reserved, caring only for her family. This enthusiasm for socializing was clearly forced and painful to watch. The Good Doctor was now entertaining the daughters of some prominent department head. She could see by the way they looked at him that other women desired the Good Doctor. It made her feel wretched that all she wanted to do was flee. The crowd around her seemed to billow menacingly. Every mouth but hers was in motion. The chattering had ceased making any sense to Nasya. It all sounded like traffic noise. It kept getting louder. But in the midst of the blur she saw a face she never expected to see again. Deep in the crowd stood Frank. He was wearing his jeans and T-shirt, completely at odds with the formality of the room. No one gave him a second glance. He caught her eye and began walking toward her. He carved his way

93 through the chatting physicians so casually that no one questioned why this young man was crashing the private party. When he reached Nasya he held out his hand. Nasya took it, and together they walked out of the crowded room and through the door. No one saw them go except the Good Doctor who thought nothing of it at the time. But as time passed and Nasya didn’t return he sought out her mother who guessed that the young man was the magician who had performed at Anna’s birthday party and with whom Nasya had recently been spending a great deal of time.

10.4 For the next three days Nasya and Frank never left Frank’s apartment. Her life made sense to Nasya for the first time in a long time. She did not know what she should think, only what she did think. Nasya was comfortable around Frank in a way that she was never comfortable in front of anyone else. She was happy. They didn’t talk until the second day. They then talked well into the third day with out pause. It suddenly became very important for them both to know absolutely everything about the other.

94 CHAPTER 11

“I remember one dream particularly. It was when I was very young. Maybe six or seven.” “I have trouble picturing you young,” said Nasya. She was lying on her back naked. Frank was sitting up with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. He was also naked. “Well, I was. I’m sure of it. My mom would know, let’s give her a call.” “Tell me about the dream,” Nasya said laughing. “This dream was one of those that you think you’re awake but you are still asleep.” “I hate those. When I was a kid I always dreamed that I had gotten up, eaten breakfast and gone to school. Then my mother would open the door and scold me for not being dressed yet. I would dream the whole day just to find out it hadn’t even started yet.” “Yeah, it was like that. But in my dream when I went to brush my teeth in the morning, I discovered that I had grown a beautiful pair of feathery white wings.” “Oh, I’ve always wanted to fly.” “Me, too. Which is why I was horribly disappointed when I realized I couldn’t fly. I went out in my back yard and flapped as hard as I could, but nothing happened. I even tried jumping out of the tree house Joey and I built.” “In your dream?” “Sorry. Actually, Joey and I built that tree house when I was eleven. The dream predated it. But I do remember jumping off something and trying to see if I could glide down. But I couldn’t. The wings didn’t really do anything but they were awfully pretty and I was extremely proud of them.” “As any seven year old would be,” Nasya added. “Well, yes, exactly. The next day at school I showed them off shamelessly. All the kids were horribly jealous. Especially the rich kids because they couldn’t go home and get their parents to buy them some. Although they did try. For the next week or so a bunch of kids showed up on the playground with wings made from plastic or styrofoam. But they couldn’t hold a candle to my wings.” “You made that last bit up. That wasn’t in the dream.” “No, I was embellishing a bit. But in the dream everyone was jealous. I know that much. But it wasn’t something that was shown, just something in dream reality I just sort of knew. You know?” “So that was the dream. You grew wings and made all the other children green with envy?” “No, well, yes. But that was only the first part. You see, naturally a little boy who suddenly grows wings becomes quite a sensation in a small town.” “Naturally.” “I was a big deal. All the grownups were taken with me and it made my little head grow with self importance. They decided I must be angel.”

95 “A predictable conclusion.” “I suppose, and I will say that I liked the attention, but then people started asking me all these questions. You know deep theologic questions that I didn’t understand.” “Why do bad things happen to good people, etc.?” “Exactly. So the problem was, I was seven and had no idea what they were talking about. Even more I had no idea why or how I grew wings. They appeared without explanation or religious edict. I had no insight or any supernatural knowledge about anything. At first I played along, I fell into the trap of telling them what to do, what not to do.” Nasya rolled over onto her stomach and smiled at Frank who was being more talkative than she’d expected. She reached over and put her hand over his knee cap. She was thankful that she could touch him without embarrassment or hesitation. “ The things I said never went well. But that didn’t stop the townspeople. No matter what I said they just wanted more. Soon, they didn’t just want answers they wanted me to do things for them. They wanted me to cure their baldness or make them rich. All sorts of things. By this time I no longer was interested in being the center of attention, I just wanted to be left alone so I could eat sugary cereal and watch cartoons.” “There’s a moral there.” “I don’t know. Maybe. It made me wish I had kept the wings to myself. Enjoyed them, but kept them hidden. In the dream I ended up running away. I have a clear image of myself standing on the edge of the road with a little bag on the end of a stick and two huge white wings.” “Then what happened?” “Usually I woke up and ran to the mirror to inspect my back.” “A little anticlimactic.” “It was a dream not a story.” “I know. When I was a little girl...” “See, I can picture you as a little girl.” Nasya punched him playfully. “When I was a little girl I used to have elaborate dreams of adventures I’d have with my friends in space or back in time. We went lots of places and it was always so much fun. Or so I remembered it that way.” Frank rolls over on his stomach as well and Nasya talks to him over her shoulder. “But then, when I woke up and went to school, my friends would have no memory of the adventure from the night before. It upset me terribly. I told my friend Karen how the two of us had been on a treasure hunt and had discovered a giant golden parrot but she had no idea what I was talking about.” “Oh yeah?” said Frank. He rolled over and put his arm around Nasya’s bare back. She curled up against his side. “It was the first time I realized that people didn’t share dreams. It kind of made me sad. Before that I never realized that my thoughts were private. I just

96 assumed that other people were aware of them. In fact I always purposely directed my thoughts to other people. Even after I realized the other kids couldn’t read my mind I still sort of talked to someone in my head, you know?” Frank did not answer. “All my life I’ve always felt that there was someone else with me. Someone who shared all my experiences and emotions. Someone who heard all my thoughts and who listened. I used to spend hours mentally talking to them, hoping for a response.” “I was the same way,” said Frank. Nasya pulled his arm up from her waist to over her shoulders. She hugged his forearm and entwined her fingers in his. “But then, I guess I stopped. I must have gotten too tired of waiting for them to answer. It’s been years since I last thought about it. I kind of miss it, you know?” “I know”

11.2

Waylon could hear the two of them talking. It was hard not to listen. He tried to be quiet coming in and ou. Over the last couple days he made himself scarce, giving Frank and Nasya the apartment to themselves. He found himself spending more time at his office than he ever thought possible. He never saw them leave Frank’s room. And he doubted they ever left the apartment. Waylon was acquiescent. Frank had been more than considerate to him on the occasions that Waylon brought someone home. In fact Waylon had so often abused Frank’s relaxed and non-confrontational manner that he saw this as the perfect opportunity to atone for his past behavior. Waylon filled the refridgerator with bread, cheese, and generic green sports drinks that were cheaper than gatorade. He took out the trash and cleaned the bathroom. He stocked the medicine cabinet with glow-in-the-dark condoms.

11.3 “I was a chain smoker. I used to smoke two packs a day. Then one day I realized that I enjoyed the cravings more than I enjoyed satisfying them. I liked to feel need. I had a need for nicotine, but I wouldn’t appease it. The need to me was something outside myself. Something I couldn’t control. I liked the feeling of needing something with such intensity it hurt. As time passed the cravings subsided and I no longer felt that need. I was sad. I felt closed up again. Like there was nothing outside of myself that affected me.” “I never smoked. I never did any drugs. I never shoplifted. I never did anything I wasn’t supposed too.” “I used to piss my dad off something fierce because I ran stop signs. He asked me why I never stopped for them and I told him ‘to prove the fallibility of human law’ which upset him even more because he was an attorney.”

97 “See, that's what I mean. I’ve never ran a stop sign. Of course I’ve never driven a car. But if I did I’m sure I’d never even speed. I never do anything wrong.” Frank looked at her and smiled slowly. “You stole that fat guy’s wallet.” Nasya laughed,“that’s right I did!” “You are a thief.” “I’m a criminal!” “A menace to society” “A thug.” Naysa rolled over on to Frank’s chest. On impulse she lightly bit him above the collarbone on his neck, Frank yelped in a way that was more for show than from pain. Frank flipped her over and pinned her arms against the mattress.

11.4 “It got so bad that I couldn’t stand being in a room with more than a couple people. Any more than six or seven and I became nervous and then angry. It was weird. I would get irrationally angry that there were too many people in a given space. This made my last year of college pretty rough.” “I bet,” said Frank. The two of them sat on the floor with their backs supported by the side of the bed. They were oblivious to the fact that a third day had come and gone as they sat side by side talking. Frank held Nasya’s hand but she often took it away to gesture before returning to his grip. “I went to see a counselor about it. I wasn’t having textbook anxiety attacks so they didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t understand why it made me angry instead of hyperventilating or sweating or whatever. Of course they still tried giving me drugs but I just thought I needed to get out of the city. My mom’s sister had a beach home on Fire Island and she let me stay out there over my winter break.“ Frank raised an eyebrow. “Not that part of Fire Island,” Nasya said. “It wasn’t the Pines it was Ocean Park. There’s a difference. Every summer I stayed with my cousins up there for a week in August. They stayed the entire season. It was nice despite having a lot of silly rules about bicycle bells and frisbees.” “My pops had a fishing cabin on an unpronounceable lake close to the border with Canada. He and maybe 12 of his buddies went in on it.” “Did you like it?” “Never actually went. It was for the older guys. They never took wives or kids. I think it burned down maybe a decade ago. It doesn’t matter, your aunt’s house?” “My aunt’s house. It was absolutely dead during the off-season. I went from being surrounded by people to being completely alone and isolated. It was great at first. No cars are allowed there so I walked everywhere. Pretty much all

98 the houses were empty and all the businesses were closed. I brought enough food with me to last much longer than I was planning to stay. It was a pleasant break from the crowds of the city.” “It does sound nice,” said Frank. “It is,” said Nasya “We should go.” “Sure.” Both of them were suddenly uncomfortable as they realized this was the first time either of them mentioned anything having to do with the future. It was something they both consciously avoided yet was beneath the surface of everything that was said. Neither of them wanted to put the other on the spot by asking. Neither of them knew what they could expect from the other person, but both of them were thinking about it. “Then what happened?” Frank asked. Nasya broke out of her spell. “Oh, well, I wasn’t entirely alone. There were a few year-round residents but mostly people who worked keeping the place up for the summer. I didn’t see those other people much, but for some reason I was more aware of them. There was one lady I always used to pass on the beach. Because there was no one else there I always felt obligated to stop and talk to her. She was a harmless enough old lady, in fact she was real friendly. But I wanted to be alone and to be able to just tune everything out but my thoughts. So I used to dread our encounters. I tried to avoid her, but either she was always out walking, or she didn’t keep a strict schedule, because I ran into her all the time. And every time I saw her I was forced to go through the same pleasantries over and over again. “It was the same with the local cop. He was always doing a patrol and every time he spotted me he would stop and force me into a conversation with him. He was just being neighborly but I thought he was creepy and I hated talking to him. He always asked questions about school and what I was studying which was worse than talking to the old lady because I had to think up answers instead of just saying ‘fine and how are you?’. “I felt forced to talk to everybody. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing some local way off in the distance and knowing that I would have to spend five or more minutes with them painfully chatting.” “Painfully chatting?” “That’s how it was to me. Forcing people to be talkative and outgoing when they don’t feel like being talkative or outgoing is one of the worst parts of civilized society.” Frank gave a noncommittal nod, but Nasya was not paying attention to his responses anymore. “After that it was a relief to be back in the city. Sure, I was surrounded by mobs of people again, but none of them expected me to talk to them. It turned out I was right all along. I just needed a break from the city so I could appreciate it. Sitting in a lecture hall full of other students was not hard anymore.” Now Nasya looked to Frank for a response, but he just smiled. She wanted more than that. Nasya knew she was not normal. The things that bothered her did not bother other people. Other people did not dread having to

99 say hello to a friendly old woman walking her dog. Nasya had ignored her first instinct to hide her oddities from Frank and now she was unsure of the consequenses. It was two days since she had disappeared from her engagement party, and in all that time she had not contacted anyone to let them know she was ok. She was unconcerned about their worry. The time with Frank had been wonderful. She had not cared about anything else. But the euphoria was fading and doubts began to creep into her mind. It bothered her that she did not know what the relationship was between the two of them. She did not know what the last two days meant. More importantly, she did not know what the last two days meant to Frank. So as she spoke of her strange fears and eccentricities she became more self-conscious. She did not know what Frank thought about her. But for once, Nasya did not want to cover up her oddness. It was more important to her to be open and honest with Frank than it was to be perceived as normal. It was what she needed from Frank. She needed one person in her life with whom she wouldn’t doubt herself. It was so important to Nasya that she forced herself to share and confide as much of the oddness as she could. “It’s funny,” she said. “As a kid I wanted to share my thoughts with everyone, but now that I’m older, I am obsessed with keeping everything to myself. Or at least I was.” Frank pulled her onto his shoulder and kissed her on the temple. It made her feel better. “A couple of years ago Waylon and I went to the Grand Canyon. I had much the same feeling you had about getting away from other people. We were going down to camp by the river for a few days. I should have known it was the most visited natural wonder in the world. When we started down the trail, there must have been two hundred other people all starting out together. Everyone quickly spread out and soon Waylon and I were walking by ourselves. But no matter how separated we were from the others, they never got out of our sight. There was always someone visible either way below us or way above us. The trail switchbacks as you go down.” Frank moved the arm not holding Nasya to illustrate the back and forth progression of the North Kabob trail. “Even when we got to relative flat areas we could see silhouettes of hikers on the horizon. But worse than seeing people constantly was when I couldn’t see them because then I looked for them. I was more aware of not being alone when there was no one in sight because I knew that any moment, a hiker could show up over thenext hill.” Nasya pulled his arm over her and held his forearm against her chest. It was a motion she had become accustomed too and enjoyed. She liked entangling her fingers into his. She liked his hands. She liked feeling that he understood her. Even though he said nothing that proved it, Nasya knew somehow that he had heard everything she said. “Do you know they have a bar at the bottom of the Grand Canyon? It ‘s supposed to be like a general store but really it was a place to drink. Waylon

100 had a blast. So did I, but Waylon really had a good time. Such a good time that I was surprised we managed to hike back out without needing a helicopter to rescue us. It was hard enough for me, but he was so hung over that he was green. When we finally reached the top he was crawling.” Nasya smiled at the image. If the doubts were there, she ignored them.

11.5

Frank told Nasya about his secret stash of funds. She was shocked to discover how much he had acquired from picking pockets. He lifted up the mattress and revealed the false bottom in the box springs and the stacks and stacks of currency in different denominations. “How much is it?” she asked. “A little over a hundred thousand dollars.” Nasya gasped. “And all that is from picking pockets?” “Mostly,” Frank answered. “But some of it is from magic shows, or if the folks sent me birthday money.” “Why do you keep it under your mattress? Wouldn’t it be safer in a bank?” “No one knows it’s here. Not even Waylon. Besides I doubt I could deposit this much in a bank without having to answer some serious tax questions.” Frank dropped the mattress into place and turned to look at Nasya. Her eyes were still wide in disbelief. “It’s funny though,” said Frank. “My dad always told me how important it was to work hard, so that some day you wouldn’t have to. It all seemed circular to me then. Why work only to not work later, when you could just as easily not work today? I guess I’ve matured a lot since then.” “What are you going to do with all that money?” asked Nasya. I don’t know. I have thought about it a great deal and still have no idea. I could do a lot with this much money. Which is, I guess, the reason I’ve never spent much of it. I feel like I should save it for something important.” “Like what?” “A dream or ambition. To do something I have always wanted to do.” “So what is your dream?” Frank laughed out loud. Nasya liked seeing him show emotion. “I don’t know, I can’t seem to make up my mind.” Nasya sat back on the bed. “I don’t know what my dream is either,” she said. Frank sat down beside her. “Some people have always known exactly what it is they want to be. Even as children they knew whether to be an astronaut, a firemen, a dancer, or whatever. I never could decide,” said Frank. “At least when you know that dream you’ll probably have enough money to realize it,” she said.

101 “Yep,” said Frank. The conversation ended for the afternoon. Instead they just lay on their backs trying to touch each other’s skin with as much of their own as they could. Nasya loved to rest her head on his chest with her nose touching his shoulder. She loved the way he smelled. And when he loved her, he loved her. There was nothing else. It was miles away from the clinical precision of the Good Doctor. And Frank felt connected. Nasya had an affect on him. He envied her empathy. In the back of his mind he knew the world was still full of isolated lonely people. But Nasya’s presence reminded him that the two of them were alone together. He was still apart. But Nasya was there. She was next to him.

11.6 Nasya began to formulate plans in her head. She would never go back to the Good Doctor. She would return to the apartment they shared once more, but only to collect her few personal belongings. Then, she hoped never to see him again. After that her plans were less focused. In her mind she saw herself living in Chinatown with Frank. She would have to make sure it was all right with Waylon. He seemed to like her but Nasya knew she should not assume anything. They didn’t have to live there. They could live somewhere else. They didn’t even have to live together. Nasya could live by herself. Nasya could get a job, or not. She could help Frank steal people’s wallets or not. She realized for the first time that she could do absolutely anything she wanted to. It surprised her how little this frightened her. Nasya felt she had been given a great gift of a new life. She could do with it whatever she wanted. There was no one way to live. There was not a measure of lives that deemed some better than others. There was only one life and it was hers. When Frank fell asleep Nasya watched him closely. She resisted giving him too much credit for pulling her away from her old life. He had helped. He had been the reason, but Nasya needed to know that she had made the decision to leave. That was important to her. After the Good Doctor, she did not want to ever again be put in a situation where she felt that she owed anyone anything. Not even Frank. Looking at his sleeping form, she could tell that this was not what he wanted. He did not want to control her. He just wanted her. Nasya put her hand on his brow and Frank stirred slightly. Since she had first seen Frank’s uncanny ability to disappear in a crowd Nasya had envied Frank. She had wanted to be invisible like him, and to go through life without anyone noticing - to not be affected by the world or the people in it. Seeing him asleep Nasya realized that he would never be invisible to her. She knew him now. She knew him in such a way that she could not envy him anymore. She no longer wanted to disappear like him, or be disconnected like him. She just wanted to be with him. The rest would work itself out.

102 Nasya stretched herself out next to him and let her eyes close. She was soon asleep. They clung to each other even while they slept. Their breathing was the only sounds to be heard except the distant sounds of traffic, and the muted murmur of Grover’s three televisions coming from upstairs. The next morning Nasya decided that it was time to go and collect her stuff. Frank claimed that he was getting stir crazy from staying indoors so long, and offered to go with her. Nasya could tell he really just wanted to be there in case the Good Doctor returned unexpectedly. But Nasya knew the Good Doctor would never leave work on a weekday. Plus it was something she wanted to do herself. She also wanted to visit with her parents. She needed to be sure her mother knew she was all right and that she was happy, and that under no circumstances was Mrs. Silverman to try to reconcile her with the Good Doctor. Nasya knew this was going to be hard on her mother. It would be difficult to make her understand. It was her father that Nasya was excited about seeing. She wanted to thank him.

103 CHAPTER 12

Mrs. Cap was furious. She accused her husband of intentionally sabotaging Nasya’s relationship with the Good Doctor. She said he had no right interfering in their lives and then she swore never to speak to him again. Dr. Cap had been surprised by his wife’s vehemence and fury. In the long years of marriage they had rarely if ever raised their voices to each other. The shouting match that ensued when Nora returned home from the engagement party had been out of character for them both. Their previous arguments had been quiet and cold. Dr. Cap reacted to conflict by becoming indifferent and distant. Mrs. Cap was passive aggressive. This argument was different. This time neither of them backed down. Both told the other exactly what they thought. It was disconcerting. Dr. Cap was relieved when Nora retreated into the silent treatment. It was something he was familiar with. It allowed them both to fall back into their normal patterns of behavior. Normal for them anyway. The padlock was put back on the refrigerator and Mrs. Cap once again began hiding Dr. Cap’s possessions around the house. They stopped sleeping in the same room and Dr. Cap took to napping in his attic study reclined in his favorite chair. Occasionally, Mrs. Cap would sneak up the stairs and lock the door with the skeleton key leaving him trapped until Matilda would let him out. This annoyed Matilda more than Dr. Cap. The quarrel between the Silvermans had doubled her workload. She now had to smuggle food to Mr. Silverman and help find whatever possessions Mrs. Silverman had hidden the day before. She now checked the oven before she turned it on after she had burned several pair of Dr. Cap’s trousers his wife had hidden there. Dr. Cap did not retaliate. He dealt with his wife’s aggressive behavior with acceptance and good humor. This of course infuriated her. But Dr. Cap took no mind of her. Dr. Cap felt triumphant. As each day passed without word from Nasya, Dr. Cap felt more and more relieved and elated. As happy as Dr. Cap was for Nasya, it was the other recent event in his life that dominated his thoughts. The photograph of the woman that had been his first wife had been returned to him. She looked different than Cap had remembered, but to see her face again was wonderful. Dr. Cap felt the old emotions coming back to him. He was ill prepared for their effect. Before, the day dreams had been pleasant but fleeting. Now, suddenly Dr. Cap felt an overwhelming urgency to act on them. He wanted to find her. Dr. Cap had refused to break his shabos observance for his wife of over thirty years. But for Zuzel, the girl he had not seen since he was twenty, he walked away from his three year day of rest without a thought or hesitation. He conspired with Matilda to let him out for his walk, but instead of going to the park he made his way to Herald Square and the public library. He ran into

104 a neighbor boy that was now a sophomore in College. He paid the kid a fifty to teach him how to look up a person on the internet. After so many years it was staggering to Dr. Cap how quickly he was able to find her and astonishing how much information was accessible. Finding an address for her in Washington Heights was more than Dr. Cap could have hoped for. She lived in New York on the very same island as him. In his day dreams, he had imagined himself walking through a tiny hamlet in the Dominican Republic carrying her small picture and saying “Zuzel, Zuzel”, until some young man recognized the young girl as a woman who lived in a small house on the edge of town. Then Dr. Cap would hitch a ride on the back of the youth’s bicycle to a tiny cottage with chickens running in the yard. But that was just his fanciful musing. Instead Zuzel lived not more than two miles from him. All these years she was so close. Dr. Cap lived in the house that had been his father’s, so it was the same address where they had played together as children. Dr. Cap wondered if Zuzel had ever looked him up, or passed by his street hoping to see him. Zuzel Rivera was now Zuzel Ruiz. She was a widow. She had seven children, four boys and three girls. She owned a small restaurant on 207th street. This new knowledge filled Dr. Cap with mixed emotions. On one hand he was thrilled to know so much about her, but it saddened him also knowing that she had lived a life without him. It was not that he expected her to remain unmarried. He never thought about it. It was foolish of him. He had day dreamed so many lives for her. It was disappointing to him to be faced with the reality. The truth had destroyed his own private dream of who she was. Dr. Cap did not understand why it distressed him but it did . She was a widow. That was something he had never considered. He wondered about her husband. Was he a good man? He hoped so. He hoped her life had been a happy one. But more than anything he hoped that their brief marriage had remained as important to her as it had for him for so many years. Now Dr. Cap had a new problem. What should he do next? He had her address. He could write a letter, or stop by to see her. “No,” he thought out loud. “The restaurant is the perfect place.” The young college kid looked up confused at the older man’s outburst. Dr. Cap did not notice. His mind was formulating a plan. He would go to her restaurant uptown. He would pretend to be an ordinary customer. Maybe she would be there and Dr. Cap could have a look at her without her knowing. Or maybe she would recognize him immediately. Either way, he was determined to see her. Dr. Cap felt everything was coming into place. It was all working out better than he ever expected. In his happiness at discovering his lost love his thoughts unexpectedly turned to his current wife. He forced himself to consider why he was searching for Zuzel. Did he mean to leave his wife? Would he walk out on a women who had been there for some thirty odd years to pursue the memory of a youthful adulation? It was not the scandal it would cause. It was not the hurt it would inflict on his family. It was Nora. She was his wife.

105 Dr. Cap never understood her. Her temperament seemed to sway on no rationale that he was aware of. It was true that in the last few years Mrs. Silverman was not the same sweet, quiet girl that Dr. Cap had married so long ago. It had been a while since they showed any affection for each other. When Dr. Cap chose to observe the shabos for three years she had become so cold. He wondered if she loved him? What kept them together for so long? Did she ever love him or was theirs the same kind of relationship as Nasya’s and the Good Doctor’s. Is that why she pushed so hard for the engagement even when it was so clear Nasya’s heart was not in it? His head was filled with questions but he could find no answers. He only felt doubt that they were even the right questions. There was something simple that Dr. Cap did not understand. Something that eluded him. An idea or concept that was drifting right outside his head where his brain could not get at it. It was frustrating. His search for Zuzel was something other than curiosity. He was trying to understand his own life. For that he felt he needed to see it in context. Maybe when he finally looked upon Zuzel’s face again, it would all become clear. Dr. Cap knew he was getting ahead of himself. But he had made a decision, and whatever came of it would come of it. He had to see her one more time, and Dr. Cap was certain that after he saw his lost wife everything would be clear to him one way or the other. He left the quiet of the library and stepped out onto the noisy streets. He decided to go for a walk in the park as he had pretended to earlier. It was becoming more like spring but the breeze would prevent anyone from walking for more than twenty minutes without a warm jacket. He quickened his pace while his eyes searched the landscape for the familiar place. He found what he was looking for. It was a large boulder near the duck pond where people laid out in the sun on warmer summer days. With the enthusiasm of his youth, he scaled the depression of the face of the rock. He was surprised at how strenuous the climb was. He was breathing heavily when he reached the top but stood still enjoying the coolness outside his wool overcoat. When he was a young man, he and Zuzel sat on the rock. Sometimes he would lie down with his head in her lap. It occurred to him that when he was an older man he and Nora sat on this rock together. They would occasionally picnic in the park during his lunch break. She was always doing things like that. Sometimes she would take his two daughters and son to his office and the five of them would enjoy a summer afternoon on this rock. Dr. Cap took the picture out of his pocket. He looked at the young Zuzel and tried to imagine how the fifty years would have changed her.

12.2

Frank kissed Nasya one last time before watching her bound down the creaking steps to the street. It was hard not to follow her. He wanted nothing more than to ride in the subway with her as she went uptown. But she had asked

106 him not to for reasons he was forced to accept. Still, he wanted to run after her. If he had been wearing shoes he might have, but Frank’s feet wear bare. He wore only a worn pair of boxers and an even more worn white undershirt. He had not put on pants for several days. There had been no need. He had tried to convince Nasya to put off her errand. One more day would not have mattered. But Nasya was determined to be done with it and would not delay. It was mid morning. Nasya hoped to get to her old apartment while the Good Doctor was at work. It should not take long. She told him she was not taking much. Nasya also said that she wanted to stop by her parent’s house. He did not know how long that would take. Frank imagined it would be evening before he heard from her. That gave Frank nearly an entire day to himself. Suddenly, that seemed like a lot of empty time. Frank had trouble remembering how he used to occupy himself. He supposed he should start by getting dressed. He was in desperate need of a shower but he felt reluctant to part with the odor. It was a combination of his sweat and her sweat. To Frank it was a pleasant, sour scent. He wanted maintain his present stink the rest of the day. Better sense prevailed and Frank took his needed shower. The water felt good. The shower head was the only remodeling work Waylon had ever finished in the apartment replacing the low flow shower head with a cannon. It was strong enough to bruise sensitive skin. It had taken awhile, but Frank was fond of Waylon’s customized shower head. The pulsing jets of hot water pounded on his back like an giant Hungarian Masseur with anger management issues. That was Waylon’s description. Nasya’s smell was gone. It was replaced by soap and shampoo. Frank did not mind. He knew she was coming back. They had not made any plans but Frank believed it went without saying. She was going to leave the Good Doctor. That had been firmly decided. But they had not discussed anything further. It didn’t really matter. She was in his life now. How ever it worked out would be fine. But Frank could not not help but be uncertain. Frank had always thought of himself as an acute observer of human nature. He could watch a group of people loitering together on a stoop and instantly know everyone’s relationship to each other. He could tell who was whose girlfriend. Who wanted to be the boyfriend but wasn’t. He could tell who the leader was, who the followers were, and who was the one they all picked on. Frank was good at reading people, but only if he wasn’t involved. Whenever Frank was put in a situation where he was forced to interact with someone, all his insight seemed to vanish. He could never get a read from someone that was talking to him as opposed to someone else. It often made it difficult for him to know how to respond. It had been that way with Nasya until her engagement party. He had never felt so sure of himself. In the day that followed he never once had to analyze or question anything. He just knew. But now Frank was aware of all the ways he could possibly fuck up his new and fragile relationship. It was a tightrope walk. He did not want to be clingy or controlling nor did he want to be removed or cold. His problem was that in his

107 mind he was way ahead of himself. He was aware of it, but he could not stop it. Already he was thinking about the future in great detail. Despite his best effort at restraining himself, Frank was making plans for a life with Nasya. It helped that Frank had enough money to do practically anything. That gave him a lot of options. They could certainly get an apartment together. Frank had enough money saved for several years rent in expensive Manhattan or wherever they decided to live. They did not have to stay in New York. They could travel the world. They could start by backpacking across Europe. Frank could do magic shows for tourists in city squares and parks. Maybe even supplement that income with a little pick pocketing. The future was wide open. Frank had never given serious consideration to having a real job. It had always been something to avoid. Now he let the previously unthinkable idea into his head. He could get a job. He wasn’t sure what, but something. He could live like other people if that meant living with Nasya. Frank finished his shower and walked across the living room leaving puddles behind him. He changed into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His socks were not clean but he did not care. Laundry was of little importance in the grand scheme of things. He flopped down on the couch and stretched out his entire length. Frank had not seen Adam in a good while. Divorce had taken a shine to him. Adam apparently did not see any reason why he and his ex-wife could not continue living together. Or start living together depending on who you talked to. Either way, Adam was much relieved that the dreaded halving of assets never occurred. He did not have to part with any of his Jets paraphernalia although he did smuggle his ex-wife’s blender to Waylon and Frank’s for Margaritas and forgotten it afterward. It still sat on the kitchen counter sticky with leftover mix. Adam’s wife, Shelly was much happier now that the pall of marital expectations was gone. Shelly no longer had to fight with Adam over their roles as man and wife. She could just be happy being with Adam. And Adam was able to continue being clueless. After their amicable separation Adam had made it clear to Waylon and Frank that he would not be spending as much time sleeping on their couch anymore. The divorce had been emotional and his ex-wife needed him around. Frank was happy to see him go. It freed up the living room. Frank stood up from the couch and walked to his bedroom. He then walked back and sat back on the couch. He tried to find something do that would occupy his next couple of hours. He kept pacing from the living room to the bedroom. He caught himself staring at the bed with it’s unmade sheets in disarray. He realized that he was just waiting for Nasya to get back. If he kept pacing he would drive himself insane. He needed to get out. Frank considered tracking down Waylon and going somewhere to have a drink. He decided against it. Frank did not feel like being especially sociable. He just wanted to enjoy his good mood. It had been several days since Frank last picked a pocket. He could go down to Penn Station and get some work done. That idea was quickly nixed as well. He couldn’t muster up the

108 enthusiasm needed. Stealing strangers’ wallets seemed so unnecessary all of a sudden. He lifted his mattress to see the rolls of money laid out in no semblance of order. He took out a thick roll of twenties and put it in his pocket. Maybe he could go buy something expensive. That would be different. He started to leave the apartment but paused at the door before returning to his room. He removed several of his business cards from a desk drawer and made some small alterations with a blue ball point pen. Courtesy of FT World’s Greatest Pickpocket Have a nice day!

That was how Frank decided to spend the rest of his day. For a change, Frank would walk the streets of New York discreetly giving money to strangers instead of his usual taking it away. He started in the subway. An old timer with a grizzled gray beard was asking for change. Frank tossed him a pair of nickels into his cup. As the man passed, Frank slipped a twenty dollar bill wrapped around the newly edited calling card into the man’s side pocket. He then made his way though the subway car choosing commuters at random and slipping bill wrapped cards into their purses or back pockets. When he arrived at Penn Station no one had yet discovered his gifts. As he exited the sliding doors he heard a murmur of confusion as a middle aged Korean woman found a card with a twenty in the zipped pocket of her wind breaker. Frank smiled as he imagined everyone in the subway car looking through their clothing to find cards and currency. He circled around the main floor looking for deserving folk to disperse his funds. Frank was not picky. He gave money to tourists, harried business people, and kids from New Jersey obviously in the city without parental permission. He made a game of getting the twenty in the most out of the way places. He managed to put a bill in a man’s tennis racket case as he walked by. He slipped them in lunch boxes, and front pockets of oxford shirts. Frank felt invincible. He did things he would never have tried before. His touch was so light, and his presence so muted, that he got a way with it all. He had no fear of being caught. Even if by some slim chance a mark found their gift prematurely, Frank could not imagine them being upset with him. He was not stealing. He was giving. But no one, as usual, noticed Frank at work. Frank tucked twenties under baseball caps, in the inside pockets of sport jackets, and once underneath a woman’s bra strap. After an exhilarating couple of hours Frank ‘s once thick roll had nearly run out. He had given away more than two thousand dollars. Two grand was more than enough kindness to bestow on New Yorkers for one day he decided . Riding the subway back to his apartment Frank could not help whistling. Playing Santa Claus had been a tremendous high. Frank knew that his acts of generosity would be remembered longer and with more amazement than his acts of thievery.

109 His apartment was still empty when he arrived. Only the constant murmur of Grover’s televisions could be heard. Frank immediately went to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He had exhausted himself. Frank found it funny that giving away money had tired him out so much more than taking it ever had. But it was a good feeling. And it got his mind off waiting. In fact Nasya would be back very soon, and that thought gave him great satisfaction. She would be back, and they would have a new life together. A better life. He felt this so strongly it made his head spin. Frank could hardly wait to tell her about his day. He knew she would appreciate his acts of kindness. Frank was more tired than he realized. Soon his musing about Nasya became dreams about Nasya. It was hard to tell at what point he fell asleep. The transition between idle thought to dream was so gradual that he hardly noticed. It was not until he opened his eyes several hours later that he realized that he had slept. It was getting late. Nasya should have been back by now. Frank was worried, but in such a strong sudden way that he knew he was overacting. He walked out to the kitchen area and looked for something to eat. He and Nasya cleaned out nearly all of the food Waylon had brought. But he found a half eaten sub sandwich and sat down at the card table that served as their dining table and took a large bite. As he chewed he noticed the green light blinking on the answering machine. Frank never checked for messages, only Waylon got phone calls. This time he decided to press the little blue button. It went through four of Waylon’s friends before it got to Nasya. There was no way of knowing when she called. “Frank I can’t leave,” she said before being cut off.

12.3

It felt like Nasya had been away much longer than three days. The door to the apartment she once shared with the Good Doctor was no longer familiar to her. She listened at the key hole, trying to determine if he was there before she unlocked the door. Nasya had not said goodbye. She had not given him his ring back. She walked out of their engagement party and not looked back. And now, while the Good Doctor was away at work, Nasya was sneaking back in to remove her possessions and to leave before he ever knew she was there. It was cowardly she knew and wished she was more sure of herself. Then, maybe she would not be so terrified to face him. Nasya had never loved the Good Doctor, but she did feel kindly to him. She was not entirely sure of her emotions. Three days ago she had hated him as she had hated no other in her life. But now she knew that she had wronged him as well. He was selfish, planning things for her that she never wanted. But that did not make up for the embarrassment and betrayal he must feel now. He deserved an explanation. But Nasya was not ready to give him one. She had no

110 reason to be afraid of the Good Doctor, yet, she still felt nervous as she tiptoed into her old bedroom. Very few things in the apartment were hers. Most of the furniture and appliances had been bought while she and the Good Doctor were together, but they weren’t hers. Nasya had never felt ownership of anything but a few simple belongings she had brought with her when the Good Doctor convinced her to move in with him. Even the suitcases were his - designer luggage, purchased when the Good Doctor had taken her along to a medical conference in Montreal. The smaller of the two had Nasya’s name embroidered on it, but it still wasn’t hers. Instead she used an old laundry bag to carry out what she could. Her own clothing belonged more to the Good Doctor than her. All the evening gowns and cocktail dresses were accessories of the Good Doctor’s, even if he never wore them; so were the tennis outfits and the cruise wear. These were the dressings of a life that was his not hers. Nasya felt no right or inclination to take them with her into her own new life. She took only her simplest clothes. She packed away her jeans, her sweaters, and the simple jewelry she bought herself. She left the loud, extravagant jewelry the Good Doctor preferred. She abandoned everything that could easily be replaced like cosmetics and personal hygiene items. When Nasya finished packing she had only two small bags of clothes and a box of Milano cookies. Those were hers. The Good Doctor did not eat sweets. Finally, after making one last sweep of the apartment, Nasya placed her large engagement ring on top of the dresser where she knew the Good Doctor would find it. She did not leave a note. It was done. She could leave. She paused in front of the hallway mirror then froze as she heard a key fiddling in the lock of the front door. Her first instinct was to hide. She quickly ran into the bathroom not knowing what else to do. She heard the Good Doctor walking across the living room carpet. He walked straight to the bathroom door. “You might as well come out,” he said. “The doorman told me you were here.” Nasya did not move or breathe. “I left him instructions to call me whenever you decided to come back. I didn’t think you would take so long.” The Good Doctor did not sound like himself. His voice was quiet and almost sad. Nasya felt foolish hiding in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and opened the door to face him. “Hello,” she said. The Good Doctor stared at her. Nasya tried to look back at him but she soon cast her eyes downward to avoid his eyes. The Good Doctor’s face did not appear to be angry. It looked tired, but in his eyes Nasya could see indignation and annoyance, and beyond that ferocity. It scared her. “I thought about killing you,” he said in a whisper. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You embarrassed me in front of my friends and colleagues,” he told her. “If something was wrong you should have said something to me and we would

111 have worked it out. But you, you had to make me look like a fool in front of all those people.” “I never meant to hurt you,” she said to her shoes. “Liar, Liar!” The Good Doctor screamed. “You did this deliberately. You wanted to hurt me as much as possible. I did everything for you. Gave you a life, and you hated me for it.” Nasya couldn’t find anything to say to him. It wasn’t true what he said, but she knew she could never contradict him. “You wouldn’t believe the story I had to tell to explain your disappearance. Everyone in the hospital thinks you have the flu. I just walked out of a staff meeting telling them I had to check in on you.” Nasya recognized her old position of passivity taking over. Whatever the Good Doctor said she would take it without fighting back. She did not have the strength to assert herself. Seeing her standing mute and scared was calming to the Good Doctor. He stopped blocking the door and sat down on the edge of the bed. Nasya remained standing in the doorway to the bathroom, awkwardly trapped between going and staying. She wanted to leave, but it was harder without Frank. It was Frank that had led her out of the party. She could not have done it alone. The Good Doctor still stared at her from the bedroom waiting for her to try and explain herself. “You mother told me about the magician,” said the Good Doctor. “I found out from your supervisor that he has been showing his pathetic little tricks to the terminal cases. I also found out that he has been doing so without administrative clearance. He won’t be allowed back.” Nasya’s eyes shot upward at mention of Frank, but as the met the gaze of the Good Doctor the fell back to her feet. “It took all my restraint not to go out and find this boy and make him suffer the way you’ve made me suffer. But I knew you would come crawling back.” The words of protest died in Nasya’s throat. She was not coming back. She was leaving. But still she could not answer him. The Good Doctor was annoyed now at her silence. “What?’ He asked her. “Don’t you have anything to say? You are lucky no one at the party even noticed your little boy toy, nobody but me that is. Otherwise this would be a very different discussion.” The Good Doctor looked away for a moment and started fiddling with one of his prosthetic hands “I am willing to forgive you for your little act of defiance,” he said. “I’ll even chalk it up to cold feet.” The Good Doctor stood and walked over to her. He looked as if he expected her to throw herself in his arms but Nasya leaned away which infuriated the Good Doctor. He grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her toward him until their faces were almost touching. His mechanical hands were strong and pinched Nasya’s skin painfully. “You will never embarrass me like that ever again.” The pain of the cold plastic hands squeezing her shoulders made Nasya forget her fear. She looked up straight into his eyes without flinching.

112 “I am not coming back,” Nasya said. “I’m leaving.” The Good Doctor’s face crumbled for a moment. The pinching of her shoulders lessened slightly. For a second Nasya thought he was going to let her go, but then his forlorn expression was replaced with one of anger and desperation. “No!” he yelled as he flung Nasya to the bed. “ I will not allow you to humiliate me again.” The Good Doctor paced furiously in front of her. “We are going to marry and you will be my wife,” he told her. “No more of this silliness. Go put your stuff away. Grow up little girl. You are a grown up. Grown ups don’t act this way.” Nasya slowly got to her feet. “I don’t love you,” she said. The Good Doctor glared at her menacingly. “I don’t care.” Nasya picked up her bags and headed to the door. “I am leaving.” The Good Doctor lunged at her and struck her in the face with the back of his hard plastic hand. Nasya fell to the floor. The shock was worse than the pain. Nasya had never been hit before. It made her angry. Nasya lay on the carpet for a moment before springing up like a cat. She grabbed the cordless phone from the bedside table and rushed past the Good Doctor into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her as the Good Doctor collided with it. Nasya did not call the police. She called Frank. There were several long rings made longer by the threats emanating from outside the door, then the machine finally picked up. Nasya heard the Good Doctor move away from the door but concentrated on the long comedic message that Waylon had recorded. Finally she heard the beep. Nasya had only begun to speak when the Good Doctor loudly ripped the phone console out of the wall. The line went dead. It was her hope that Frank had gotten enough of the message to understand. “Frank, I can’t leave, he won’t let me. I need help.” But she knew she heard the click of the phone somewhere in the middle and she could not be sure how much was lost. Outside the Good Doctor began banging on the door. Nasya ignored him. Soon he gave up trying to get her to open. “Fine stay in there,” he said. Nasya could hear him dumping out the bags that she had packed up earlier. He stopped and walked back to the door. I have taken your keys,” he told her quietly. “Also know that the front door can be locked from the outside.” It was true. Beneath the expensive dead bolt was a keyhole that needed an old fashioned iron key. They have never locked it before, but without the key Nasya would be stuck.

113 “So you just stay here,” said the Good Doctor. “And we’ll discuss it when I get back this evening.” She listened intently for the sound of the Good Doctor leaving the apartment. Cautiously she opened the bathroom door and peered out when she heard the skeleton key turning in the old lock. She forced herself to wait five minutes before running to the door. Sure enough the door was locked and Nasya could not open it. She tugged at the door handle and kicked at it, but to no avail. Nasya looked around for another phone but the Good Doctor had taken them all with him. She still held the cordless in her hand but without the base connected to the phone line it was useless. She ran to the window that overlooked Central Park. They were much to high for her to jump, but Nasya hoped she might be able to yell down to someone on the street below. She thought better of it after sticking her head out. Something about screaming for help from strangers bothered her. There had to be another way. Nasya sat on the sofa resting her chin on her knees. She tried to concentrate on all the possible ways to escape but found nothing she could use. She hoped that Frank got her message and that he was on his way to rescue her. But she knew that she could not count on Frank. He did not know where the Good Doctor lived. No, she decided firmly. This was something she would have to do herself.

12.4

When Waylon came home he found the door to the apartment open wide with no sign of anyone home. This was not out of the ordinary, but it was usually Waylon who forgot to close the door. Frank was usually good about shutting and locking it. But Frank had been not himself for a while. Rather, he had been himself, just much more so than usual. Waylon couldn’t be happier for his old college buddy and his new found love. Nasya was a nice girl. She was the kind of girl people like Frank seemed to need around. Plus, she did not seem to be the type of girl that would bother Waylon too much. Waylon had a way of unnerving the girlfriends of all his close friends. They did not like him because they knew the influence he had on the men in their lives. Waylon did his best to charm them but he could rarely win them over. It was not that they were immune to his good nature. Many of the girlfriends had been his good friends before they had developed relationships with his other good friends. But for most, this is why they worried. They knew what Waylon was capable of. The women knew that if Waylon suddenly decided, in a drunken bit of enthusiasm, to hijack a plane and fly to Argentina, their lovers would not be able to resist going along with him on the adventure. And so there were many women in New York City who shunned Waylon like the plague and punished their men mercilessly for enjoying his company. However, there were a few women who not only tolerated Waylon but enjoyed him as well. These girls didn’t mind their guys tagging along with Waylon because they usually went along. Adam’s ex-wife was one of the the latter.

114 Waylon and Shelly got along famously, and he made a point of telling Adam that he couldn’t ask for a better ex-wife. He had high hopes for Nasya, but he had been wrong before. Waylon would not stand for some woman taking his Frank from him. It was Frank that kept him from getting into too much trouble. Waylon wondered where Frank and Nasya were. For the past three days they had barely left Frank’s bedroom. Now the apartment had a deserted feel to it and Waylon also felt a sense of urgency, like it had been left in a hurry. “Maybe they ran off to get married,” Waylon chuckled to himself. Frank would do something like that. He had not taken Adam’s example to heart. You would never catch any woman making an honest man out of Waylon though. He would probably die a happy bachelor. Frank once said that he suspected Waylon would either never marry, or marry and divorce over a dozen times. Remembrance of that prediction made Waylon laugh. He took off his pants to celebrate his bachelorhood and laid down on what he still considered to be Adam’s couch. He drank a beer and ate a box of graham crackers that were the only thing edible in the flat. He had just made himself comfortable when he saw that there were messages on the answering machine. He heaved himself up and pressed the retrieving button. The first three messages were from his friends asking him what his plans for the night were. People were always calling up and asking him for his plans. Waylon was always amused by that because he made it a point to never make plans in advance. He told people to stop by, and that if he wasn’t at home he’d be somewhere else. The fourth message was for Frank. Frank never got messages. “Frank, I can’t leave,” the machine said before cutting off abruptly. Waylon understood immediately. That explained Frank’s hasty departure and the empty apartment. Nasya had blown him off. She had decided to stay with the rich prick of a doctor that Frank had told him about. Well, wasn’t that typical. He knew Frank would be devastated by this. It would probably be best if Waylon found the poor bastard before anything happened to him. Waylon took a taxi up to Germantown and collected Adam. The two of them scoured all Frank usual spots. For Frank this was a wide variety of out of the way places. First they checked all the obvious locations like Grand Central, Penn Station, Port Authority, and Times Square. There was always a chance that Frank was working the crowds. But when they didn’t find Frank in the most likely spots, they began searching the odd places Frank was accustomed to haunt when he felt introspective. Waylon knew most of these places. There was a bridge over the west side highway, an old tuberculosis hospital on Roosevelt Island, and a rotted pier down by the Fulton Street Fish Market, but they saw no signs of a Frank Tivney anywhere they looked. It was late, so they called off the search after not finding Frank on the Staten Island Ferry and returned to the apartment. Waylon figured Frank would be found when he was ready to be found. Besides a little time by himself would do him good.

115 In the meantime Waylon and Adam decided to try a bar in Soho that was located in the basement of an art gallery. Waylon wanted to change his shirt before they headed out. . But there was another message on the machine that put off their bar hopping for at least a of couple hours. “Waylon, I got arrested, I need you to bail me out, there’s money in the cigar box on my desk. Well that’s it. See you later.” It was said with absolute deadpan expression as if Frank had called to say his plane was delayed or that his car had run out of gas. But Jail explained why they had not been able to find him. Waylon was on friendly terms with many of the on duty policemen and knew the shift sergeant . The officer actually apologized for picking Frank up. He explained that some lady had called 911 saying that there was a trespasser on her property. When the officers arrived they found Frank sitting on the stoop in front of the lady’s house. It was no big deal, but Frank refused to leave and the old lady had a fit. So basically they hauled him in to shut her up. “I understand,” said Waylon. “I appreciate you all taking care of him. He’s been a little upset, girl trouble you know.” The officer nodded in understanding. “Anyway, we’re not going to charge him with anything. Just makes sure he stays away from the old lady and we’ll cut him loose.” “Don’t worry we’ll take care of it,” promised Waylon. The sergeant brought Frank out of the holding cells himself. He made Waylon sign release papers, and then the three of them hailed a cab back to the apartment. Frank did not say a word, and Waylon and Adam did not question him. When they finally got home Frank went into his bedroom and shut his door. Waylon let him be. . He may not have understand Frank’s situation, but he was empathetic enough to know not to bother him for a while. He and Adam did not make it to the bar beneath the art gallery. They ended up just going to place on the corner. It was still a good time.

116 CHAPTER 13

It was all coming to pieces for Mrs. Silverman. Her husband was keeping secrets from her. Her daughter had disappeared with a children’s magician leaving her poor doctor fiancé embarrassed and alone. It was all too much to bear. And it was all her her husband’s fault. After years of begging him to break his constant observation she discovered that he had done so behind her back. Mrs. Strindberg, a close friend, informed Mrs. Silverman casually over lunch that her son had helped Dr. Cap search the internet. She followed that announcement by politely asking if Mrs. Cap was relieved now that her husband had ceased his idiotic three year sabbath observance. Mrs. Silverman had not known about the computer lesson or that Dr. Cap had finally stopped living everyday as a day of rest. But to Mrs. Strindberg she just nodded and smiled. She tried her best to hold up her end of the conversation, but her heart was not into the neighborhood chatter the way it used to be. Mrs. Cap, was surprised how the news hurt her. She had fought tooth and nail with Dr. Cap about his observances, ever since the day he started. She could not believe that he would finally quit but keep it a secret from her. Didn’t he know how hard it had been on her? Mrs. Silverman had long since given up expecting an apology, but she had expected at least a respectful courtesy. She found the idea intolerable that her husband would share his personal life with a twenty year old college sophomore and not have the decency to tell her. Worse, Dr. Cap continued to play at the pretense that he was still keeping up his day of rest routine. At home, he still shunned anything electrical or doing anything that resembled work. He had even refused to hang a picture frame. Why would he pretend to be observing the shabbos around her and then not caring around anyone else? Mrs. Silverman had politely taken leave of Mrs. Strindberg and hurried up to her own townhouse. She climbed two flights of stairs to the bedroom she now shared with no one and cried like she hadn’t cried since she was fifteen. Mrs. Silverman loved Dr. Cap and had always been everything a person could ask for in a wife. She managed the household, raised the children, handled their social calendar, and everything else that needed doing. Everything she did was for him, because she loved him. And now he seemed to resent her for it. Mrs. Cap had loved the odd Egal Silverman ever since the first time she laid eyes on him. She was nine years old and her family had just moved to the upper west side from Brooklyn Heights. He was the young orthodontist her parents had taken her to when her permanent teeth began to grow crooked. In Brooklyn, her dentist had been a grouchy fat man who always smelled of onions. She hated letting him touch inside her mouth because he was never gentle. He was constantly cross with her because she could never keep still. After the move, Nora’s parents decided she needed braces. She had never been to an orthodontist, but she imagined him to be like her old dentist. But instead of just poking at her teeth with a little pick or the occasional drill, he was going to be

117 filling her mouth with metal wires and brackets. Nora was not excited by the prospect of spending more time in a reclined dental chair and having her mouth squeezed apart by large fumbling fingers. When the day came for her to face the dread tooth straightener, Dr. Cap had been the opposite of her expectations. She had been very surprised at how young he was. Dr. Cap was twenty eight years old but had a face that made him look much younger. He was straight out of a masters program in orthodontia and had just been brought into the practice by the much older Dr. Stam who did not see many patients any more. When it came time for Nora to be called back to be examined, she found Dr. Cap to be gentle. He was soft, and kind to her. He rarely talked, but she could tell by his eyes that he was considerate and a goodhearted person. Nora began to look forward to each visit. She liked to stare at his face while his attention was turned to her teeth. She was so close to him. Dr. Cap was always very well groomed. He was always clean shaven and even the hair in his nose was clipped. Nora’s old Brooklyn dentist had old acne scars and his nose hairs spread out into his mustache. Even the white plastic gloves Dr. Cap wore seemed to taste better. As he tinkered in her mouth Nora would watch his dark brown eyes. They were always intent on their work, but She had always thought they were somehow sad. Unbeknownst to Dr. Cap, Mrs. Cap had known all about Zuzel. Everyone had. Nora’s mother was a terrible gossip and a young Mrs. Cap overheard many of her mother’s conversations with her friends about Dr. Cap’s tragic first love. She learned that he had fallen deeply in love with the beautiful daughter of his family’s maid. He knew his family would be against it, so he secretly whisked his love away to Niagara Falls to get married without anyone suspecting. Young Mrs. Silverman had also learned how it all fell apart. Both the families opposed the union. The bride’s family most of all. They forced the young couple to annul the marriage and had made it impossible for the two to ever see each other again. Everyone talked about it like it was some great folly, but young Nora found it terribly romantic. She alone could see Dr. Cap’s true nature beneath his dark eyes and calm demeanor. She envisioned a pure romantic soul dwelling within. In the day dreams of adolescent Nora, she imagined herself as Zuzel, the poor maid’s daughter, capturing the heart of the dashing young dental student who had been her childhood playmate. It was beautiful. But in her day dreams the two of them had stood up to their parents and lived happily ever after. When young Nora was fifteen, it was decided that her teeth were as straight as they were going to get. It was time for the braces to come off. Nora was devastated. Her biweekly appointments were over and she would only see Dr. Cap at most twice a year for brief follow up examinations. No more half hours of lying on her back while Dr. Cap glued and replaced brackets. Only a quick look and then she was out the door. The future Mrs. Silverman did what she could to extend her courtship. In high school she lost seventeen retainers so Dr. Cap would be forced to fit her for new ones. At that point her parents decided that enough was enough and

118 stopped the appointments entirely. Nora had to rely on eavesdropping on her mother’s conversations to keep track of her secret love. Nora was relieved that Dr. Cap never got remarried. Many people, including her mother commented on the strangeness of his bachelorhood. Certainly there were plenty of young women that would love to have the successful, and handsome orthodontist as a husband. But Dr. Cap was steadfast in his desire to remain unattached. It was certainly peculiar to have a man in his thirties unwed, people began to think there was something else wrong with him. But Nora knew that he only needed the right woman to awaken the romantic spirit that dwelled within him and she was as determined to be that woman as Dr. Cap was to remain a bachelor. After graduating from Brandeis at the age of 21, she went after the elusive Dr. Cap with the single mindedness of a mad sea captain chasing a great white whale. He never stood a chance. They married when he was 42, and she was 23. It was not the passionate, romantic marriage Nora had expected, but she was happy. She took great joy in doing everything she could for her husband. All in all Mrs. Cap considered it a successful and happy marriage. They had made a life together. They had raised three children and seen two of them married. They were grandparents. Now it seemed to Mrs. Silverman that her husband was determined to throw all that away. Nora was lost. She had never in her life considered what life would be like without him. Lately she began to imagine with dread that it might actually happen. A divorce would grant her everything financial that she would ever need and more, but that was not what Mrs. Silverman wanted. Mrs. Silverman wanted the life that she thought they had been building together. She wanted the happy retired life of spending afternoons together and spoiling their grandchildren. She wanted to travel. She wanted to go all the places they couldn’t go before because Egal was always working. Dr. Cap had denied his wife her dream life. Yet she was still there for him. She was still his wife and continued to run his household. But now it seemed to Mrs. Cap that her husband was not content to ruin her life, he had to ruin Nasya’s as well. Nasya was the youngest and the most troublesome child. The older children had been practical and pursued staid and traditional vocations. Their son became an orthodontist like his father and the oldest daughter married an oral surgeon. But Nasya was different and that caused Mrs. Cap to worry. When the Good Doctor came around he seemed the answer to her prayers. He was successful, talented, and well connected socially. He could give Nasya the security and stability that her mother had hoped for her. And the Good Doctor adored her. That was obvious. He was always giving her jewelry and perfume. He doted on her. This was the kind of man she wished Dr. Cap had been. Nora was happy for her daughter. The Good Doctor would be a good husband. He would never disappear into the attic and ignore his wife. Dr. Cap had ruined everything for Nasya the way he had ruined everything for Mrs. Silverman. He had the arrogance to say no when the Good Doctor

119 asked for Nasya’s hand. Luckily she had interceded saving the engagement. Dr. Cap refused to attend the engagement celebration or the engagement party. Mrs. Silverman was convinced he had conspired with the lowlife magician con artist to carry Nasya off. It was beyond belief. For Mrs. Silverman it was the last straw. It was for Nasya that she put the lock on the refrigerator. It was for Nasya that she hid Dr. Cap’s clothes and glued the books on his bookshelf together. She had been a good wife for too long. She had seen to his every wish and need. But if he was going to act like this, then she was done. He would never get fed from her kitchen again. She was certain of that. Still, whenever Dr. Cap left the house, she worried that perhaps this time he wouldn’t come back. Then the magician showed up. He brought her surprisingly good news. Apparently Nasya had the good sense to return to the Good Doctor. The young man did not see it that way. He kept banging on the door demanding to see Nasya. He would not listen to Mrs. Silverman’s demands that he leave her property and never bother Nasya again. He told her through the peephole that he was prepared to wait as long as it took until Nasya spoke to him. Mrs. Silverman did not want to tell him that she had no idea where Nasya was. He would not have believed her anyway. She watched him through the peephole as he turned his back and sat down on the stoop. Mrs. Silverman called the police. When they finally arrived, the two officers were reluctant to arrest the boy, but Mrs. Silverman was insistent. He at least was honest and told them that he was not going to leave the stoop until Nasya talked to him. One of the patrolmen suggested to Mrs. Silverman that she go get Nasya to talk to him and get it over with. But Mrs. Silverman would have none of it. Nor would she consent to let Frank wait on the curb which was public property. In the end the officers were forced to handcuff the young man and take him to the precinct. Mrs. Cap could see his eyes as he left. He looked dejected and hurt. She could not help but feel a little sorry for him as he was driven away.

13.2

Frank was tired. And his stomach hurt. He could hear Waylon and Adam moving about in the living room through his wall. He wished they would leave. He sat on the side of his bed, determined to wait them out. Frank felt horrible. He felt sick, but he wasn’t really. There was nothing wrong with him. But his throat still felt itchy, and his stomach had clenched itself into a fist. His roommates would leave soon. Then he would go out in the living room and lay down on the couch. He would not go until they leave. Frank did not want to see anyone. He did not want anyone to see him. He just wanted to be alone. He just wanted to feel bad. The front door slammed. Frank waited, just in case one of them forgot something. He finally opened his door. He walked across the living room and into the bathroom. He felt like he might want to throw up. He didn’t. He only

120 wanted to. He wanted the feeling relief that sometime comes after a sick person vomits. He was not hung over. He would have understood that. And he would know that however poorly he felt, that it too would pass. He would know that as the day progressed his headache would fade, his stomach would strengthen, and his mind would quicken. But this, this was much worse. Adam and Waylon had both been tiptoeing around him ever since they bailed him out. Both of them attempted in different ways to encourage him to forget about Nasya. Adam said the “chick”, Waylon called her the “dumb broad”. He could not forget about her. But he could try not thinking about her. All he could do was focus on his body. Focus on the tangible pain rather than the emotional pain. His eyes were sore, itchy and red. He thought about going into the bathroom and rinsing them in the sink. He didn’t. He was afraid of the bathroom mirror. He did not want to see his reflection. All he could do was collapse on the couch, and wish the day over with but still unwilling to face the next.

13.3

Grover had not eaten in a week. He had not slept for longer. He sat cross-legged on the floor with his notebook computer resting on his lap. His three televisions were arranged in a semicircle on the floor before him. All three flickered on different channels, their sounds melded together to near white noise. Grover had not moved since the last power outage, but it appeared that the last bit of electrical rigging had actually worked or else the three television screens would be dark. But Grover was not thinking about this. Grover wasn’t thinking about anything. He had opened his mind. He was clearing it of all exterior thought. Instead he let the thoughts come in from the outside. Instead of aggressively interacting with the media, he had become passive and was letting the media encompass him. He felt it growing in him. Occasionally he would see images in his mind that he knew were from channels he was not watching on his three sets. He began to feel people typing on his skin as millions around the world conversed over the internet. His own fingers rested motionless on his keyboard. He felt like he no longer needed them. He could navigate without moving at all. On the floor next to him were the remnants of his last meal now many days old. The moldy half of a hot pocket was crawling with ants. By the door were piles of mail that the postman had slipped underneath because Grover’s box downstairs was overflowing. It was mostly junk mail, but there were bills that had not been paid, and frantic letters from his parents wondering where he was. On a corner table the phone lay off the hook. Grover had stopped even the pretense of caring for the physical world. This time he was determined to escape his body for good.

121 It was happening. Grover could feel a flame burning inside of him. He felt the earth revolve underneath him. He felt the anger of fans discussing the last Star Wars movie. He knew the joy of a winning contestant on Wheel of Fortune. He shared the relief of a young man cleared of being the baby daddy of an angry overweight woman on Maury Povich. These were all so real to him. Much more real than the pain in his stomach or the cramp in his legs. Those did not even register anymore. Downstairs the fuse box, an amalgam of coat hangers and bare wires, started to hiss like bacon on a frying pan. Sparks flew and finally caught on old brown cardboard boxes that had been flattened out and stored for future use. The fire grew as it reached the storage space where Young Mann’s restaurant supply kept its overflow. Table clothes and cleaning supplies helped feed the fire. Soon flames traveled up the wires in the very walls of the building. Smoke began to billow from outlets. The tenants in Young Mann’s building began to evacuate. All except for Grover. He did not even notice the black smoke that was quickly filling his room. With a loud pop the power went out causing his three televisions to go blank. But Grover realized that he no longer needed them. He could see the images on the television screens without any electronic aid. Not only could Grover watch the television shows without the television, he could watch them all. Every program from around the world, whether in English or Farsi. He could see them all, and understand them all. At the same time he could browse any web page, listen to any pod cast, and read any blog all without the use of a keyboard or mouse, or even a computer. His body was left behind, and his mind spread out among the world, enveloping and dissolving into electromagnetic waves emanating from television stations across the planet. He stretched his limbs across the millions of telephone, cable and fiber optic lines that carried the ones and zeros of information being passed from all computers everywhere. His apartment had caught flame. The unopened pile of mail was now embers. The floor beneath him burned, and his clothes have begun to smolder. But Grover was not there anymore. His body was a shell that he had abandoned. Even if he was aware of the burning he was too far away to do anything about it. As his body fell to the flames and the lack of oxygen Grover realized with joy that he could never go back. It was the last individual thought he ever had before he disappeared into the ocean. And he was one with all. The crowds of people gathered outside had no idea there was still anyone left in the building. The fireman were too busy to look for him even if they had known. The fire had spread quickly, and they had the hands full keeping it contained to one building. Later when Grover’s remains were discovered among the wreckage there was little left to recognize. His buddies from around the world were shocked by the unexplained silence silence of Grov6. His web sites crashed and expired. The forums were free of his opinions. And all that was once Grover was gone.

122 13.4

Dr. Cap was out of his element. He was not lost. New York’s grid system made that impossible for a long time resident. But this neighborhood was one he had never ventured to before. Of course he had been to the Cloisters, but this stretch of Washington Heights made him feel like a foreigner. Everything was in Spanish. Little kids ran playing around the storefronts ignoring the young mothers yelling at them. He did not see any address numbers, but he knew that Zuzel’s restaurant was on this block. He had not seen anything that looked like a diner, much less a restaurant. At last he noticed a tiny window and door with “Authentic Dominican Food” stenciled on it. Dr. Cap decided that it must be it. Zuzel’s restaurant was not more than a lunch counter with a couple of stools. Behind the counter were hot plates keeping rice, beans and pork dishes warm. There was one young Dominican girl working the counter. She gave him a questioning look as he stepped in the cafe and then motioned for him to sit down. He did so and she handed him a menu. He recognized some of the dishes. Zuzel’s mother would make them for lunch sometimes when it was just Zuzel and him. She would never cook Dominican food for his parents but Dr. Cap had fond memories of empanadas and shredded pork with plantains. It was only now that Cap realized that his parents wouldn’t have approved and might have fired the cook if they had ever found out. He ordered sancocho which he remembered enjoying. The young woman smiled as he fumbled with the pronunciation. She yelled out his order through the swinging doors to the kitchen. His meal was as far from kosher as could be but Dr. Cap had stopped paying attention. His self-imposed years of rest were over. He was out living again. No more brooding in his favorite chair. It was Zuzel who brought the food out to him. He knew it at once. She was older of course, but her face was the same. She had grown plump in a way that was lively and gregarious, not a tired weary plump. Her hair that had been so magnificently black was now gray with only a few strands of black. She smiled at him as she set the bowl of steaming stew in front of him. It smelled wonderful. “Do You like Dominican food?’ She asked. “Very much,” Dr. Cap answered. “but I haven’t had in for a very long time.” “You will like this sancocho. My mother gave me the recipe.” Her eyes still lit up when she smiled. “I remember,” he said. She gave him an odd look, but did not recognize him. Did he look so different? The glasses, he used to have glasses. He panicked for a moment, lost on what he should say. So instead of talking he removed the picture of Zuzel from his wallet and slid it across the counter. Zuzel picked it up curiously. “This is me!” she said. She now looked at Dr. Cap suspiciously, then her face began to soften. “Egal?” she asked. Dr. Cap nodded.

123 She gasped and gave him a startling hug. She called for the girl who had given Dr. Cap the menu. “Maria, come quick.” The young lady wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to see what the fuss was about. Zuzel put her arm around the girl’s shoulders and motioned to Dr. Cap still seated on a stool. “This is my oldest childhood playmate Egal.” He saw the young girl’s eyes light up just like Zuzel’s. “This is Maria, my youngest.” The young woman shook his hand and Dr. Cap thought perhaps she knew who he was by the way she smiled at him. Dr. Cap found himself squeezed into a tiny table reminiscing with his first wife and her daughter. They were joined by another older daughter, Gloria, who held a baby. They both fussed around Dr. Cap, forcing him to eat several different specialties of the house. It was all delicious, but his attention was centered on Zuzel. They talked as if their separation had been just a few weeks. Neither of them mentioned their marriage. Instead they talked about being children together and the trouble they used to get into. Then, as if to skip a sore spot, they jumped ahead to their current lives. She told him about each of her seven children and the death of her husband. Dr. Silverman found himself talking at great links about his wife and their three children. Their conversation was interrupted by an older man wearing painters overalls coming into the cafe. To Cap’s surprise Zuzel stood up and greeted him with a kiss. She then disappeared into the back room before reappearing with a Styrofoam takeaway container which she handed to the older man. He opened the lid smelling the aroma coming from within and smiled widely. “This is my husband Rafael,” she smiled. “We were married last year. Dr. Cap stood and shook the short man’s hand. The older man nodded amicably then left the restaurant with his lunch to go. “He likes to come in everyday to get his rice and beans,” Zuzel told him. “Tell me of your wife, I would love to meet her.” Dr. Cap was surprised by her question, but he did as she asked. He told her of Nora’s devotion and chattiness -how she was the social animal of the marriage that kept him from being too isolated. He was confused by the course of their conversation. They were talking like two old friends, not two long lost lovers. He wanted to look into her eyes and tell her that he never stopped loving her. That he wished for nothing more than if their separation had never happened, and that in his heart of hearts he was as devoted to her as he was when they were married. Instead, he told her about his children and she told him all about hers, and her grand kids. He stayed and drank coffee with them until it was time for the dinner crowd to come and Zuzel needed to prepare a fresh supply for her hot plates. Dr. Cap stood to leave and suddenly felt very sad. He wondered if she truly had forgotten their love. It seemed impossible to believe that something that meant so much to him would be so casually forgotten by the object of his

124 adoration. She had made him a large bag filled with various dishes to bring home with him. He was too polite to refuse. Then she again gave him a long hug that startled him all over again. This time she looked deep into his eyes and whispered softly, “If only.” Dr. Cap echoed her statement and looked at both daughters. They were both staring at him wide eyed. She had to have told them. They knew that once their mother was deeply in love with a Jewish dental student. Zuzel kissed him on the cheek then disappeared behind the swinging door. The two daughters waved to him through the window as he left. Dr. Silverman stood on the sidewalk outside as confused as he ever was. But it was apparent to him that their relationship was in the past and that’s where it would stay. Strangely Cap felt like maybe he wanted it that way too. He walked home instead of taking the subway. It was a long walk but he needed to work out his thoughts. It took him hours to get home. He found himself on the stoop of his house unable to go in. He was afraid. Maybe of Nora, maybe of the life he was living there. He knew that things would have to change but he was not sure how - not yet. He left the bag of food sitting on his doorstep and starting walking again, this time with no destination in mind. What he really needed was a drink. Dr. Cap had not walked 200 hundred yards when he spotted an strange door he had never noticed before squeezed between two neighboring buildings. The letters SAS were scratched on it. Acting on impulse he reached for the door handle and pulled. The door swung easily revealing a dark staircase. From below came the welcoming noise of a tavern.

125 CHAPTER 14

Nasya stood on the fringes of the crowd that looked in wonder at the ruin of Young Mann’s restaurant supply. They were just starting to board up the burnt out frame. The building was gutted. She could see above into Frank and Waylon’s apartment. But it was just the remains. They had been hit hard by the fire being on the second floor. Nothing was salvageable. There in her view, was the room in which she spent three long days with Frank. Only two walls stood. The bed they had slept on was a pile of ashes. She came looking for Frank. She wanted to explain to him her message. She wanted to say she could. That she wanted to. That she was sure. The Good Doctor had done everything in his power to keep her from leaving. The front door was always locked and he kept the key buttoned in his shirt pocket. The phones had all been pulled from the walls. He never left her alone for more than a few hours. The first time he left, Nasya hid herself behind the couch. As soon as the door opened she made a rush for it. His hands were full with brown bags of take-out Indian food, but he dropped them all when he saw her running at him. He caught her before she could pass. Nasya struggled and kicked but he was still stronger than her. He carried her back into the apartment and set her down gently on the his recliner. All she could do was glare at him as he walked back to secure the door and pick up the paper bags. Nasya was no longer ambivalent in her feelings toward the Good Doctor. Now she outright hated him. It was a hatred that exhilarated her. For the rest of the day Nasya refused to talk to him. The Good Doctor pleaded, threatened, and finally submitted to the silence between them. He also stopped talking. The two of them sat in the living room quietly fuming. The cartons of chicken tiki masala and naan bread sat untouched on the counter. The Good Doctor hated Indian food, but he knew that Nasya had recently developed a taste for it. It was a peace offering. Nasya refused to eat any of it. She could see that he was struggling to be nice to her. He was hoping to win her over. The Good Doctor still believed that he could have her back the way she was. Nasya took a small delight in spoiling that desire. After the disastrous lunch, the Good Doctor stayed out of Nasya’s way. She remained in the bedroom alone. The Good Doctor never left the living room. It was as if both Nasya and the Good Doctor were determined to wait the other one out. Both of them thought the other person was acting irrationally. Both of them thought that the other was just being selfish. And both of them believed that the other would eventually come around and stop the foolishness. That night the Good Doctor slept on his Swedish recliner. He remained in his clothes. Nasya did not sleep. She stayed awake trying to build up enough courage to attempt to steal the key from the Good Doctor’s buttoned breast pocket. She could not do it. Nasya knew that Frank would have had no trouble getting the key. But Frank was not there.

126 Nasya still found it hard to believe that the Good Doctor intended to imprison her in their apartment until she agreed to go back to him. In the back of her mind she still believed that he would give up and let her go. Nasya knew that the Good Doctor was an intelligent man. Eventually, he was sure to see the utter ridiculousness of his plan. But then Nasya never imagined that the Good Doctor would ever hit her. Later that night Nasya began to wish that she had hit him back. She should have punched him the way she had once done to her sister, nearly breaking her nose. As she lay awake, she thought about attacking him while he was asleep. She could sneak up behind him and break a lamp over his head. But it was against her nature to assault someone unprovoked. Still, she promised herself that the Good Doctor would never get away with hitting her a second time. She wasn’t afraid of him. The next morning Nasya stopped being quiet. The Good Doctor was rudely awaken by her throwing the bedroom lamp against the wall. He was lucky that it had not been aimed at his head. He tried to speak to her but Nasya would not let him. She called him a cripple, a criminal, a nobody, a dickless coward, and a eunuch. All the words she knew would hurt him the most. But the Good Doctor took it all in without complaint. He still refused to let her go. He ignored Nasya’s demands even as she systematically destroyed their possessions. Soon she had broken everything breakable in the apartment and had strewn litter across the floor. It made no difference to the Good Doctor. He continued to cling to his idea of having Nasya as his wife. Nasya knew the Good Doctor did not love her. He was punishing her. Nasya had caused the Good Doctor to lose face, and that to him was unforgivable. The Good Doctor was stubborn, vindictive, and vain. Reluctantly, Nasya finally accepted that the Good Doctor would never give up. But neither would Nasya. She would never be the same helpless girl. She would never hide in the bathroom again. Nasya would not let him take her back. The Good Doctor did not let Nasya’s unpleasantness deter him from his responsibilities. Even as she continued to break dishes in the kitchen, the Good Doctor changed his clothes and prepared for his day at the Hospital. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said as if everything was normal between them. That pissed Nasya off. She threw a glass casserole dish at the apartment door as he was locking it. Nasya was disappointed that it did not shatter. It just made a loud thunk sound and fell to the floor. It was not even cracked. Nasya threw a wine glass next and was more pleased with the result. She was determined not to be there the next time the Good Doctor returned. First, she tried to pick the lock with a nail files. It was harder than Nasya expected and she soon gave up. She thought about taking the door off the hinges but she could not find a screwdriver. Instead Nasya abandoned the stealthy approach and took the heaviest object she could find, in this case the iron, and began battering the metal key plate. She swung at the lock for a good two hours but the iron bolt still held. It was an old lock in a sturdy antique oak door. The Good Doctor had it installed

127 after seeing a similar entry way in an interior design magazine. The rural farm door looked out of place with his modern furnishings but it was solid. Nasya had little hope of doing any real damage to it. She was laying on the floor and staring at the obstinate lock when she heard a small click. The door opened and the surly dark haired doorman stuck his head in. Some one had obviously complained about the racket. Nasya, seeing the door ajar, leapt up and sped past the befuddled doorman leaving all of her possessions behind her. The doorman recognized Nasya and called after her as she fled. She did not stop. He tried to follow her but Nasya ignored him and let the elevator door close before he got near. Finally she was free. The rush of escaping made her head light. As she quickly walked out of the luxury high-rise, Nasya’s first impulse was to go see Frank. She did not second guess herself. She ran to the nearest station to take the subway down to his apartment in lower Manhattan. As she waited for the train, Nasya tried calling Frank on a foul smelling pay phone. There was no answer. It could be the power was off again. Either way she was going. If Frank was not home when she got there she would wait for him. Or she would find someone that knew where he was. But when Nasya arrived at Frank’s Chinatown apartment building she realized why no one had answered the telephone. The whole building was destroyed. Nasya tried to talk to the other onlookers but no one knew anything. The fire men and the police ignored her. Finally, she cornered Young Mann whom she had guessed to be the owner by the way he was taking photographs of the wreckage. Nasya demanded to know what became of Frank and Waylon. The little old man ignored her and kept snapping pictures. His son, who was following him around with a clip board, finally took pity on her and told her what he knew. “They’re gone,” he said. They saw what happened and took off.” “Where?” she asked. Little Man could only shrug. “Who knows.” Nasya felt helpless. She did not know where Frank was, but she did know he was gone. She did not know what to do. Nasya could always go back to her parents’ house, but she did not want to have to answer any questions. She did not want to see anyone if it was not Frank. Nasya walked aimlessly through Chinatown. She walked until it became another neighborhood, and then another. She soon lost her sense of direction, but Nasya did not care she went. She could not tell how long she walked or how far. Her surroundings were a blur. Finally her legs became so tired she could not go another step. Luckily there was subway station on the corner. She forced her exhausted body down the stairs and onto the waiting train. Nasya did not know what train it was or if it was going uptown or down. She didn’t care. She rode the train for hours before glancing out the window. Instead of the dark tunnel, Nasya was gliding high above the city streets. Below, Nasya

128 could see the millions of New Yorkers all rushing through the world oblivious. Little bubbles of existence bouncing against each other. Never touching for more than moment. It was all so fleeting. None of them could see the train that flew over the heads. None of them would ever see it. Nasya knew it was not just Frank that was alone. Everyone was apart. Everyone was disappearing. They were all ghosts. The loud, distorted intercom made her jump. It announced the end of the line. Nasya’s legs had gotten rested and she felt like walking again. She left the train at the station and climbed up the concrete steps into the sunlight. She found herself in a large circular park. It was a place she had never been before.

14.2

Frank was still lying prostrate on the couch when Waylon came home. He could hear him coming up the stairs. He heard the front door slam as only Waylon could do it. This was followed by Waylon’s signature hop step up the stairs. He could never climb a stairwell without taking a least two steps at a time. Frank could hear him whistling as he opened their apartment door with a bang. Waylon could never make an entrance quietly. His preferred way of entering the room was to unlock the dead bolt and kick the bottom of the door hard enough for it to fly open for him. Frank did not even turn his head to look. He just hoped Waylon would leave him alone. Of Course Frank knew that was unlikely. He should have stayed in his room and locked the door. But then Waylon would have busted in anyway. Frank could feel Waylon looking down at him. He knew Waylon was wondering what sort of mischief he could play on on Frank’s prone form Frank tensed his body, expecting Waylon to throw something at him. Instead Waylon merely sat himself on the arm of the couch next to Frank’s head and continued to stare at him. “Is the power out?” asked Waylon. He answered his own question by flicking the switch on. The overhead bulb flickered on and illuminated the room sharply. Frank cringed as he tried to close his eyes against the invading yellow light. “Have you just been laying here in the dark all day?” asked Waylon. Frank did not answer. “You have, you lose,” said Waylon. “Now get up I have news.” “Waylon please,” said Frank. He rolled over so his face is facing the back of the couch. He tries to bury his head between the cushions. Waylon taps on his head with his knuckles. “Seriously,” he said. “Get the fuck up. I have news.” With a pitiful groan Frank turned his body over to look at Waylon. Blinking he saw that Waylon was wearing the only tie he owned knotted loosely around his neck. In his hand he held the same cheap bottle of sparkling wine he bought every time he was happy about something. Frank knew there was no chance of him being left alone, so he forced his body upright into a sitting position. “What is it?” Frank asked.

129 He was answered by a loud pop as Waylon fired the cork across the room and took a swig from the still foaming bottle. He passed the bottle to Frank. Frank tried to wave it off, but Waylon held it firmly under his nose until Frank finally took it. He let a small amount pour into his mouth and held it there before swallowing. He could feel the carbonation attacking the morning breath that had lasted all day. It occurred to Frank that Waylon’s cheap Spumante was the first thing he ate or drank since the afternoon before. His stomach voiced a loud complaint to the sugar content, but it subsided as the alcohol soothed the grumbling. Frank handed the bottle back. Waylon took it in hand and flopped down on the couch next to Frank. “Sylvia was sick today,” said Waylon. “So Michael sent me off to show this German girl a huge loft up in Chelsea. And guess what?” Frank did not guess. “The German girl loves it. Takes the asking price right on the spot without even needing a day to think it over. Said she had seen the apartment listed on the internet and knew it was for her. She had all the paperwork ready. It blew my mind. I thought I was being sent on chump errand and instead I get the biggest commission of my career for a twenty minute tour. Sylvia is going to be pissed when she gets back. Michael was even talking about moving me over to sales permanently which would mean a lot more money.” “Congratulations,” said Frank. He was not paying attention, but he knew Waylon did something he was proud of. He had tried to listen but just could not get out of his hole. “Cool girl too,” Waylon continued. “Said she was some kind of musician. Probably a big deal back in her homeland, but I never heard of her. But then Germans have weird taste in music. It could be some kind of techno pop with lyrics about vampires. Anyway, I am supposed to show her around when she gets settled.” Waylon paused and took another long, long drink from his bottle. Frank tried to give him a smile, but it came out wrong. He knew he should show some encouragement or something. Then maybe Waylon would go out and leave him be. But again, he knew that it was not going to happen. Waylon crunched up his eyebrows and looked at Frank confused. “So what’s wrong with you?” Waylon said. “I’m just not feeling well.” “Bullshit, you’re still moping around over that Natalie chick.” “Nasya.” “It doesn’t matter.” Waylon goes into the kitchen and pours the rest of the bottle into an empty big gulp cup. He sips the wine through the straw. “Frank, it’s time to get up,” Waylon said. “I think I need to show you something.” “Waylon I don’t want to go anywhere,” Frank laid back down on the couch. “I said, I need to show you something, now get your ass up!”

130 He pulled the pillow out from under Frank’s body, and spilled him on to the floor. “Jesus Cut it out.” “Jesus nothing,” answered Waylon. “Are you going to come with me?”

“No, now fuck off.” “Fuck off? Fuck off huh?” Waylon walked back to the kitchen and placed his big gulp on the counter. He returned with the fire extinguisher and aimed the nozzle at Frank’s sprawled mass on the floor. “Get up,” said Waylon. “You know I’ll do it. Put your shoes on, we’re going for a walk.” “Fine,” surrendered Frank. He knew better than too argue with Waylon. Frank still had no desire to leave the apartment, but he knew all too well that Waylon would carry out his threat. He also knew how badly the flame retardant would burn if he got it in his eyes. Frank would go. He found some socks underneath the couch and pulled his shoes onto his feet. He looked up at Waylon sullenly. Waylon nodded ot the extinguisher. “Am I going to have to take this with me, or are you going to be good?” “I’m coming.” “Good.” Waylon put the fire extinguisher back in its place and took up his big gulp of wine. He sipped at the straw through his teeth and swung the apartment door wide. Frank trudged past into the hallway. It was a long walk and they did not talk. Frank kept his eyes on the ground and followed Waylon’s lead. Waylon took a leisurely pace, occasionally stopping to sip his wine as they walked. He offered the big gulp to Frank several times but Frank waved it away. So Waylon stopped trying and kept the wine to himself. They walked north out of the Lower East Side and into the East Village. They kept going past Tompkins Square Park. Finally, Waylon paused in front of a large vacant lot on 13th street between second and third avenue. He turned and motioned for Frank to look. Frank was confused. He expected Waylon to be taking him to a bar, or even maybe a strip joint, not some fenced off patch of rubble and trash. “What?” asked Frank “Why are we stopping?” “This is what I Wanted to show you,” answered Waylon. “A big empty lot.” “Exactly.” “I don’t get it.” Waylon smiled widely and opened his arms wide. “This,” he said dramatically. “Is my lot.” Frank lifted an eyebrow. It was not in surprise, but in a way to convey mock surprise. He did not know what Waylon was getting at. “You own this lot?”

131 “No, I don’t own it,” answered Waylon. “But it is still my lot.” “I understand.” said Frank. He did not understand. “No you don’t,” said Waylon. “You just want this to be over, so you can back home to your misery.” “All right,” said Frank. “I don’t know what you are talking about. What is so special about this lot?” “Nothing really. But I have been coming to this lot several times a week ever since I first came out here to the city.” That surprised Frank. He had never known Waylon to do anything so solitary before. “Do you remember what my major was in school?” asked Waylon. “I don’t know business?” Frank guessed. “No, architecture, I wanted to be an architect. I love buildings. A lot of people in New York don’t even take the time to notice them, but I always have. That’s why I came here. I like looking up at the high rises and seeing the all the flourishes they put at the top. Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to design them. I always hoped that one day people would come from all over the world to have their pictures taken with the building I designed.” “So you want to build a skyscraper on this lot? Waylon shook his head. “I’m no architect,” said Waylon. “I sell real estate.” They stood there for a minute just looking over at the empty lot. . “There’s a reason I nearly flunked out of school,” said Waylon. “It is hard to be an architect. There is so much math. Plus I don’t have the work ethic.” Waylon shrugged dismissively. “But that’s okay,” said Waylon “I am happy selling real estate. I make enough money and Lord knows I don’t work very hard. But I still have dreams of designing buildings. So yes I come to this lot and think about building a skyscraper here.” Waylon turned from Frank and looked at his lot. He curled his fingers into the chain link fence. “Well probably not a skyscraper,” Waylon said over his shoulder. “It would not fit with the neighborhood. Maybe a really nice townhouse with a big garden. Or a church. I have never been religious but I think I would like to design a church. I could do a lot with this space. I could turn it into a Bavarian beer garden. I could turn it into anything. I once thought it would be cool to haul an old mobile home here and just live on the land redneck style.” Waylon let go of the fence and faced Frank again. “Once, I even went as far as to draw up some rough blueprints of a luxury apartment building that could be put up here.” “I didn’t know that about you.” “There’s a lot you don’t know,” Waylon answered. “Like my point.” “No,” Frank conceded. “I don’t see your point.” Waylon gestured with his arm across the lot.

132 “All this is a daydream,” he said. “It’s my daydream. I’ll never actually do anything about it. Because the dream is so much better than the reality. I can imagine installing a huge fountain here just like the Trevi in Rome. I might spend an afternoon mentally designing it. But I could never endure the pain in the ass of actually trying to do it. “But I’ll tell you something else. Some day, some jerk is actually going to buy this lot, and they’re going to plop a chain drug store or a fast food restaurant here, and it’s going to break my heart.” “I bet,” said Frank. “You still don’t see,” replied Waylon. “Women. They’re day dreams. Same as my lot. You look at them and you wonder what it would be like to be with them. You come up with a scenario in your head and it seems so perfect. But it’s just a dream. The reality is never that great. WIth you and this Nasya chick, you never really got to know her. What bums you out is the dream. You imagined a life with this girl, and unfortunately you never lasted long enough to have it proven wrong.” Frank looked sadly over the vacant lot. He tried to see what Waylon saw. He wanted to agree with Waylon’s argument. “I’ll give you another example,” said Waylon. “A couple of years back when I used to take the subway to work. There was this girl, a real stunner, who always happened to be in the same car as me. I don’t know how it worked out, but our schedules were enough of the same that it seemed to happen all the time. Well you know I am not one to shy up in front of a fine female, but for some reason I never could talk to this girl. And that simply made me want her all the more. I thought about her all the time. I gave her a name, and a personality. In my mind I had made her perfect. I even thought I was in love. “So finally I make up my mind to quit being a puss, and I sit next to her on the train and start chatting her up. I think I asked about a book she was reading. That's not important. What is important is that the moment she first opened her mouth to speak, I fell out of love.” “Why, what was wrong with her ?” asked Frank. “Nothing,” Waylon Answered. “It was just different. I had been in love with this girl for weeks with out ever hearing her speak. You see the voice she had was different from the one I had imagined. It was suddenly clear to me that this girl and my dream girl were two totally different women.” “So what happened?” “We went out for while. I figured she may not be the one true love of my life but she was still pretty hot. Eventually it just went they way it always does. We parted company.” “I want you to be right.” “Me too,” said Waylon. “It would be the first time. Now, do you still feel like moping around?” “Not really, let’s go back” “Yeah, I need to change, I am supposed to meet that German girl for a couple drinks at some leather bar in the meat packing district. Her choice not mine. You want to come?”

133 “Nah” “So you are going to mope around.” “No I just don’t feel like being social.” “Suit yourself.” They walked back down second avenue. Frank did feel better, but the whole thing still bothered him. It was not just that he never got to see if the day dream came true. Nasya had changed him. He knew there was no going back. So he did not just mourn the loss of a girl, he mourned the loss of his old disconnected self. He would never be able to disappear into himself again. He was part of the world now. “One question, Waylon.” “Shoot. “The perfect ass that had you walking around the entire city, how do you know she was not a day dream?” Waylon paused. “I’ve thought about that,” he said. “But the thing is, I have never tried to give that ass a personality. I don’t have any pre-formed ideas about who she is. I only know, sorry, I only feel that there was something there that I needed like I had never needed anything in my life. Something that could make me happier than I could imagine. Somehow I knew that even if I did try to make up the perfect woman in my head, the owner of the perfect ass would surpass my every prediction.” “And how do you know Nasya was not like that to me?” “I don’t know,” Waylon answered. “I only wanted to get you off the couch, make you feel better.” Waylon handed Frank his cup of wine. “Thanks,” Frank said to the cup and the effort. He took a long sip from the straw and handed it back. Waylon finished it off and threw the empty into a corner trash can. “You know,” said Waylon “ I once made the mistake of telling Little Mann about my lot. He got all excited and now he want us to pool our resources and buy it. I don’t know what resources he thinks I have. He wants us to put a row of brownstones up. But I told him that even if I could buy my lot from the city, I would never build anything on it. I like to daydream about it too much. I would never deprive myself the pleasure of imagining building something there by actually doing it. Funny he didn’t seem to understand. An awfully practical man, our Little Mann is.” They walked the rest of the way in their own thoughts. When at last they turned the corner toward home they saw the commotion. They had heard the sirens for the last few blocks but had thought nothing of them. Sirens were too common in the city to ever notice. Now they saw fire trucks, police cars, and an ambulance all parked in front of their home. The building was destroyed. When they ran to join the rubberneckers the spotted Little Mann talking to a police officer. He told them it had just flared up in under an hour. The fire fighters seemed to have everything under control and were milling around the premises looking bored.

134 “My bar,” said Waylon in mock distress. Frank could not say anything. All his money in the world was underneath his mattress. It was all gone. “I guess we will be staying with Adam and his ex wife for a few days,” Waylon said unconcerned. “I hope you had renter’s insurance,” said Little Mann. Waylon laughed out loud. “What did we have to insure except Adam’s blender?” asked Waylon. “It was Shelly’s,” said Frank quietly. “See no big deal.” He punched Frank in the arm. “Well champ, it looks like you and me are going clothes shopping this weekend. Oh, and I will need to stop by the liquor store sooner than later.” Frank did not respond but looked up into their old apartment. “ No worries, the place was a dump. We can easily find another one.” Waylon checked his watch. “Cripes, I have to meet the German girl. You going to be all right?” “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” “Good, see you Little Mann” Little Mann nodded but was distracted. His father arrived with a camera and Little Man ran off to assist him. Frank was left standing alone staring at the burnt shell. Some of the other tenants were gathering on the side walk but Frank made no move to join them. Instead he walked past the yellow tape to the still standing door of the ruined building. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pen knife. He opened the blade and scratched the letters SAS into the metal door’s finish. Frank opened the door and walked down the dark steps beyond. No one among the crowd of onlookers or any of the firefighters or cops noticed the man that walked past the caution tape and entered the still smoldering building. But no one ever noticed Frank.

135 CHAPTER 15

The Good Doctor had never been so horrified. The detective had the nerve to question him in full view of his staff. The obstinate man did not even bother to make an appointment with his secretary. He just barged into his office unannounced and interrupted the Good Doctor as he was lecturing a nurse who had misfiled some paperwork. The man flashed a badge underneath the Good Doctor’s nose. He was not very subtle. The Good Doctor had to send away the offending nurse before he had finished with her. He made sure he locked the door behind her. He did not want to give the dumb woman anything else to gossip over. The slovenly oaf of a police officer took a chair before he was offered. The Good Doctor ignored the breach of etiquette and sat in his own high backed swivel chair behind his impressive desk. “Do you know where your fiancé is?” asked the detective. The Good Doctor studied the man closely. He was large, fat and had a mustard stain on his tie. It made the Good Doctor sick to have to answer his questions, but the Good Doctor was intelligent enough to read into the question and gather what information he could. Someone must have filed a missing person report on Nasya. It was probably her mother. It would not look good if the police were to find her in the Good Doctor’s apartment. They might get the wrong impression that he had been holding her against her will. “No,” said the Good Doctor. “She keeps her own schedule and doesn’t consult me on her comings and goings.” The fat cop rolled his eyes as he removed a small notebook from his coat pocket. He wrote something down and returned the notebook to the same pocket. The Good Doctor did not like this. Perhaps he should have first asked if Nasya was all right. That would have probably been the best response. “Has something happened to her?” the Good Doctor asked. The cop ignored his question. “Why did you ask your doorman to call you here if he saw your fiancé?” asked the detective. “I had not seen her in a few days and I wanted to surprise her,” the Good Doctor answered. It was the truth. “Now please tell me. What is this all about?” he asked. The fat detective took the notebook back out of his jacket and opened it on his knee. “We got a call from that doorman. Some of your neighbors complained about noise coming from your apartment.” “That’s what this is about? a noise complaint?” “Not just that,” continued the detective. “Seems the doorman went up to investigate. Said when he opened the door your fiancé leapt out like she was fleeing mad dogs.”

136 He paused and looked in to the Good Doctor’s face looking for a reaction. The Good Doctor did not give him one. “Inside the place had been pretty messed up. Someone has broken quite a bit of your stuff. Doorman tried to talk to the lady but she ran off before he could get more than a word in. Seemed a bit odd to him so he called us. Any idea what would make your fiancé act like that? Or how your apartment got trashed?” The Good Doctor could not stop his face from frowning. That fool of a doorman had called the police. They heard about a woman fleeing from a trashed apartment and believed the worst. It was all so ridiculous to the Good Doctor. What right did this lowly police officer have to question him about his fiancé?! He was forced to explain slowly to the overweight slob of an officer the way he would a child. “My fiancé is temperamental,” The Good Doctor said. “We had a fight. She must have messed up the apartment to get back at me for some imagined slight. When the doorman interrupted her, she probably fled out of embarrassment. I love Nasya but she is often very childish.” It was all so simple, but the fat detective questioned and questioned. He wanted to know why the phones were all ripped out of the walls, and why the door appeared to be locked from the outside. But the Good Doctor would have no more of it. He protested that he had given an adequate explanation and if the police detective wished to insinuate that he, the Good Doctor had been responsible for some crime, then have at it, otherwise leave him be. The detective had huffed, but he relented and left the Good Doctor in peace. Or what peace he had. That stupid doorman. First trespassing by opening his door, and then interfering in his private affairs, and finally calling the police to harass him. The Good Doctor would have to speak to the co-op board about this. He was sure the swarthy Hungarian would not have a job there much longer. When the disgusting pig of a detective finally left, the Good Doctor strolled out to floor lounge where the secretary pool and some nurses had gathered to chat. It annoyed him that none of them had stayed at their desks. They all stopped talking when he stepped closer. He knew what they had been talking about. By now the entire hospital would know that the Good Doctor was visited by the police. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. His own secretary stood in the middle of the flock of gaggling hens and he turned his attention to her. “My fiancé has been accosted in the street. Some thug took her handbag. Now she’s at home crying her eyes out and I am going to have to run over and comfort her. I’ll need you to cancel my appointments.” The woman all just stared at him. “Yes sir,” said his secretary She usually just nodded or muttered under her breath whenever he ordered her to do some actual work. Her being polite meant that she thought she knew something. He been meaning to get rid of her for a while.

137 The rest of the women kept staring at him. He knew that none of them believed him in the slightest. But appearances had to be maintained. They should have at least pretended to to have some sympathy for Nasya’s mugging. The cab ride back to the apartment was antagonizingly long. The Good Doctor complained several times to the driver. But the Sikh at the wheel ignored him. Cabbies all hated the Good Doctor. There was something about him that said little or no tip for a lot of headache. The Good Doctor was aware of the animosity but it never stopped him from telling the drivers when to turn or whether a light was green. When he finally arrived at the awning of his building, the Good Driver told the cabbie to keep the change from a ten for the $9.70 fare. The doorman stood at his desk as the Good Doctor approached. The Good Doctor gave him a vicious glare as he passed. The poor doorman cowered in his elaborate uniform and mentally began writing up his resume. When the Good Doctor got to the apartment he found that the damage was mostly cosmetic. Nasya had made a mess, but nothing was broken that couldn’t be replaced. She had been thorough. The pillows had all been shredded, she had overturned the coffee table and broken all the dishes. Part of him was impressed at the way she had methodically destroyed everything. But that part of him was very deeply submerged. The rest of him was filled with rage. He went into his small home office and found it mostly spared from the wreckage. He took out a small key and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk He removed a pair of hands he had built several years ago, but had never worn. Of all the hands he had ever created, and the Good Doctor had created hundreds, this pair was truly unique. Over the years he had designed specific hands to tie his shoe, to eat pasta, to play golf with, and even one particular pair that was used exclusively to smoke a certain cuban cigar the Good Doctor was fond of. But the hands he placed on the surface of his desk where different that the other purpose built pairs. They had been built specifically to kill. They looked unremarkable, but the solid steel gauntlets had the strength to crush a rock into powder. If he so intended the Good Doctor could crush a man’s larynx with the same effort as a rotten eggplant. He had made these deadly hands after a colleagues made a joke at his expense during a charity golf tournament. A young orthopedic surgeon sarcastically asked about the Good Doctor’s golfing handicap. The other doctors who made up his foursome found it hilarious. The Good Doctor was not amused. After finishing the 18 holes with an abysmal score the Good Doctor rushed home and immediately began work designing his killing hands. He swore that if the jokester should he ever mock him in front of his peers again, the Good Doctor would choke the life out of him. Eventually he calmed down and his thoughts of murder were forgotten. However, the Good Doctor still continued work on his hands until the deadly weapons were ready. He liked knowing he could kill someone if the need ever arose. He kept the special pair locked in the bottom drawer of his desk just in case he ever felt called upon to avenge some terrible wrong. For the Good Doctor that day had arrived. He had been humiliated and cuckolded. by the sleazy magician. The Good Doctor was sure that the trickster was behind all his troubles. Although Nasya did not escape his wrath. He had

138 given her the chance to be a respectable and envied wife, but instead she chose to be lying harlot who hadn’t even the guts to show him her face as she snuck around like a snake. He could not decide who he would kill first. Hopefully he would find them together. The Good Doctor left the apartment the way he found it. He made no attempt to clean or straighten the mess Nasya made. That would be for later. He walked out into the street and realized he didn’t know where he was going. It had not occurred to him to find out the address of the evil magician. He decided to walk to the home of Nasya’s parents. The mother at least would help him. She might be able to point him in the right direction. He walked across the park with grim determination, opening and closing his vise like fingers. When he reached the block of the Silverman’s townhouse, he saw that Dr. Cap was standing awkwardly on the stoop. Dr. Cap did not see him, so the Good Doctor hung back and watched from a distance. He decided that he hated Nasya’s father almost as much as Nasya and the Magician. Dr. Silverman had denied the Good Doctor his blessing to marry his daughter. He was probably in league with the magician. It was possible that Dr. Cap had been so ridiculously envious of the Good Doctor that he had masterminded the whole evil plot just to humiliate his daughter’s future husband. Now that the Good Doctor thought about it, he was certain of it. There was no telling how severely the jealousy had gnawed at the man. It must have been horrible for Dr. Cap, a simple orthodontist, to be confronted with a prodigious medical doctor with potential to be such a great man. To always be reminded that he was at best mediocre. And the threat the Good Doctor must have presented to eclipse him in his own family! The Good Doctor could understand something of what had been driving the poor old man. But it did not lesson his rage. Dr. Cap would give him the location of his daughter and her magician. And if he refused then Dr. Cap would be the first of them to die. The Good Doctor watched as Dr. Silverman left the stoop of his house and starting walking away in the opposite direction. The Good Doctor hurried after him, trying to keep some distance between them so Dr. Cap would not notice him following. He shadowed the old orthodontist, until Dr. Cap came to a halt in front of an odd wood door stuck between two brownstones. Dr. Cap wavered in front of the door for a good long time as the Good Doctor stood idly several meters away pretending to be looking at the buzzers of an apartment building. Unbeknownst to him a young woman stood behind him waiting for him to move so she could get into the building. “Who are you looking for?” asked the young woman. The Good Doctor spun around and looked at the woman. “What?” “I live here. If you tell me who you are looking for, I might know what apartment to buzz,” she said. Out of the corner of his eye the Good Doctor saw Dr. Cap enter the wooden door. “Excuse me,” he said to the young woman as he hurried past her.

139 The Good Doctor ran over to the door where Dr. Cap has disappeared. The young woman gave him a confused look and quickly entered her building. The Good Doctor did not notice her. He was looking at the door. It was an old door and scratched up. Someone had written their initials on it. He pulled on the door and found it surprisingly heavy. He had to use both hands and all the strength in his legs to get in open. Inside, he saw a dark staircase and heard the sounds of people talking. He hesitated only a moment, then plunged into the darkness.

15.2 Where others found the common room of Sam’s Anarchist Saloon comforting, the Good Doctor found it claustrophobic. The air itself seemed hostile to the Good Doctor. He could hardly breathe for the smoke. Looking around he could not see where Dr. Cap had gone. Instead he met the eyes of dozens of strange old patrons. They were all giving him the evil eye. But the Good Doctor dismissed them with a scornful look and walked purposefully over to the bar. He tapped his knuckles on the wooden surface to call over the bartender. The quiet man behind the counter ignored him and continued washing glasses over a sink. The Good Doctor grew frustrated a pounded louder on the bar’s mahogany top with his steel fists The glass of the man next to him toppled over. But the Good Doctor was unconcerned and continued calling for the saloon keeper in a loud and obnoxious voice. “Hello, are you deaf?” The Good Doctor called out. “I need to know where a man is that came in here less than five minutes ago?” The man next to the Good Doctor began angrily tugging on his sleeve sleeve. It was small thin black man wearing a loose cotton shirt. “You owe me a new drink,” said the man. “Do you mind?” snarled the Good Doctor. He turned his head around quickly to glare coldly at the sleeve tugging annoyance. But as soon as he saw the thin man’s face the Good Doctor turned white. The thin man recognized him as well and smiled wickedly. “Oh it’s you,” he said. “I should have cut off your head too.” The Good Doctor began shaking like a leaf. His hands tightened on the edge of the bar. The fingers dug deeply into the wooden counter. “I saw you killed,” the Good Doctor said quietly. “Oh yes,” said the man. “Hung by the neck in front of all my friends and family.” The thin man raised his voice so that all the bar could hear him. “Look everyone,” he called out. “It’s the great white doctor here to save us savages.” There was a general mumbling around the crowd. The Good Doctor found that his strong metal hands refused to unclench. He could not get them to release their steel grip on the bar’s edge. Standing in front of him was the man responsible for the loss of the Good Doctor’s limbs. It had not been the land mine as he had told Nasya, nor was it

140 the rare jungle disease he had told others. The short African man had cut them all off with a machete. A long time ago, as a recent medical school graduate, the Good Doctor decided to get a feel of the world. He decided to give charity medical work to the poor ignorant people of the unfashionable areas of planet Earth. A variety of circumstances led him to a tiny, obscure country in Central Africa. He absolutely hated it. He hated living in a dirty hut without plumbing. He hated working in a makeshift tent hospital without air conditioning. He hated the food and the lack of proper society. The Good Doctor found the situation well beneath his stature. Despite the Good Doctor’s open derision, the natives of the local village were thankful of his presence and went out of their way to make him feel comfortable and welcome. Before he arrived, there had been a horrible malaria epidemic that had claimed the lives of many of the residents. The Good Doctor had brought the medication that could treat it. The Good Doctor spent his days handing out pills and complaining of the heat. After a while he did not even bother to examine his patients, he just gave them drugs on sight. The locals, for the most part disliked having him there as much as he disliked being there. But the medicine he brought was desperately needed so they put up with him. The charity the Good Doctor worked for by providing minimal care to the population was using his experience as a test case before they started a larger program in in the poverty stricken nation. The Good Doctor had only agreed to the posting because he saw himself as a pioneering philanthropist. The idea of going where no doctor had gone before appealed to the Good Doctor’s vanity. However he soon realized that it was better to have gone where not doctor had ever gone, than to actually be there. To pass the time he seduced a young woman from one of the far flung villages. It had not really been seduction as neither of them understood a word the other said. The young woman had walked several miles to the clinic with a sick child. The child had a fever and a scary rash. The Good Doctor prescribed baby aspirin and a lotion without looking at it. Luckily, the treatment was effective and the baby’s health quickly improved. The young mother never left her child’s side and slept next to him in the main hospital tent. One day in a restless mood, the Good Doctor found the young woman in her usual spot watching over her baby’s improving health. He took her by the hand and led her to his hut where she stayed until her baby was fully recovered. She could not speak any english but she fulfilled her purpose. When she left with her baby several days later, the Good Doctor promptly forgot all about her. Unfortunately the young woman was married to the same man that was now staring the Good Doctor down in Sam’s Anarchist Saloon. His wife had confessed everything. She admitted being scared and not wanting to upset the man who was saving the life of their baby. But the husband loved his wife passionately. So one dark night he entered the Good Doctor’s hut and took him at knife point deep into the surrounding wilderness. The short, thin man explained to the Good Doctor in broken english that because he saved his child’s life, the man would let the Good Doctor live.

141 Instead the man vowed that he would only take a hand that had touched his lovely wife. To this the Good Doctor spat in the thin man’s face. He knew the other villagers would never stand for it. He was the only doctor for hundreds of miles. Without him they would be rife with disease and living in misery. This man would not dare to hurt a hair on the Good Doctor’s head. But the wronged husband did not appreciate that sentiment. He removed both the hands that that had touched his wife, and the body part that had been where it had no right to be. Then he left the Good Doctor lost, alone, and miles away from any human settlement. By the time the Good Doctor made it back to the hospital compound he was sick with fever and his left foot had such horrible jungle rot that it had to be removed. The Good Doctor was left with no hands and only one foot remaining. He was forced to recover stranded and at the mercy of his incompetent assistants. The same assistants that had been doing the bulk of the work since the day they arrived with the Good Doctor. They treated his fever and cleaned up his wounds. They could do little for his damaged ego, but that improved rapidly enough on its own. The villagers were horrified at what one of their own had done. Although many of them sympathized with the wronged husband, they could not let the attack on their only doctor go unpunished. They captured the thin man and hung him by his neck from a tree outside the hospital grounds. The Good Doctor had made them carry him outside to watch. He felt a smug sense of self satisfaction while watching the man struggle and then hang limply. Such was the penalty of a man who dared lay his hands on the Good Doctor. He was soon healed enough to travel and began making preparations to fly back to the United States and civilization. On the day before he left he was approached by the young woman who had recently been made a widow. Through an interpreter she begged the Good Doctor to take her with him. Her people were disowning her. They blamed her for the loss of their doctor. She pleaded desperately with the Good Doctor to show pity on her, if only for the sake of her children. But the God Doctor dismissed her with a wave of his stump and had the orderlies drag her away. Later the charity closed their mission in the tiny, poor, and obscure central African country due mostly to the report submitted by the Good Doctor. When he returned broken to the nation of his birth, the Good Doctor wasted no time in becoming the foremost expert on prosthetic limbs. He began building appendages that far exceeded the originals. He rebuilt himself to be more than a man. The Good Doctor had always felt that he was a tall man despite his medium height frame. So he had his other foot removed and built himself a pair of legs that made him five inches taller. He had overcome all his life’s obstacles and made himself into a great man. But he had never forgotten the indignity and horror of his crippling and castration at the hands of a lowly African goat herder. There in the subterranean barroom stood the very man who was responsible for his humiliating maiming staring him right in the eye. The Good Doctor’s fear was replaced by fury. He lifted his arms to place his formidable

142 hands around the the thin African’s neck. But the steel hands would not release their grip on the bar. The Good Doctor pulled with all his might but instead of coming free, the hands separated from arms. The Good Doctor was left with his stumps. This made him angrier, so he swung his handless right arm at the face of his mangler. The thin man easily ducked under the flailing nub and shoved the Good Doctor to the floor. Struggling to stand, the Good Doctor’s confidence deserted him. The short, thin African had taken his limbs and was very capable of taking his life. The rage in him was gone, replaced once again by fear of bodily harm. The Good Doctor finally got to his feet and mustered as much dignity as he could, before fleeing up the stairs. He nearly crashed into a young man who coming the opposite direction. The Good Doctor did not look to see who he had run into, but dove out the door. When he finally escaped the dark hole of a saloon, the Good Doctor found himself somewhere in the Bronx. He tried to catch a cab, but his awkward stumps could not get into his pocket to pull out his wallet. His pride kept him from asking for help. Instead, the Good Doctor made the long, lonely walk back to his empty, and trashed luxury apartment on the Upper East Side.

143 CHAPTER 16

Frank knocked shoulders with the Good Doctor and reeled back in surprise. The Good Doctor did not look at him, but pushed past. The older man looked terrified. But it could have been a trick of light. Frank’s eyes had not adjusted to the darkness of the barroom from the midday sun above. He walked down the rest of the steps and looked over the crowded room. The old man in the greek fisherman’s hat was still there sitting at his same table in the back. Seated at the bar, Frank was surprised to see Dr. Silverman having a drink with a thin black man. Dr. Cap did not notice Frank’s entrance. He was still staring at the short African man. Dr. Cap had finally found out the Good Doctor’s secret. His limbs had been hacked off with a machete by an angry husband. It made a strange kind of sense. Dr. Cap bought the man a drink to replace the one the Good Doctor had spilled, but the short African did not say a word of thanks. He just turned his attention to the drink in front of him and faded away until not a vapor of him remained. Frank took the vanished African’s place at the bar. Dr. Cap smiled at him. “I just saw the Good Doctor leave,” Frank said. “He did not even stay for a drink,” replied Dr. Cap. Dr. Cap was slightly tipsy. “What did he want?” “I believe he was going to kill me. I think the Good Doctor presumes me to be the one responsible for Nasya coming to her senses. I wish it had been me. But Nasya never listens to her father.” The quiet bartender placed a drink in front of Frank unasked. Frank reached into his pocket and gave him the first bill he found. He took a drink. It was whiskey. He emptied the glass and laid it upside down on the bar. “But she went back to him,” Frank said. “I know. She left me a message.” The older man looked at Frank appraisingly. “I sincerely doubt that,” said Dr. Cap. “Not the message part. I can’t imagine Nasya ever going back to that man, and I think his murderous demeanor speaks volumes. No Nasya would have nothing more to do with him, of that I am certain.” Frank let his head droop as the barman placed another drink before him and took Frank’s change. “So it was just me.” Dr. Cap reached up and slapped Frank on the shoulder. It was supposed to be in in good fellowship but the sudden movement made Frank Jump. Dr. Cap ignored his reaction. “You know I learned something today.” said Dr. Cap. “There isn’t really anything like a perfect love. There was never a single person out there with whom we were meant to be with. That’s all a myth. A man has the ability to love

144 more than one woman in his lifetime. And I do not mean at the same time although I am sure that also happens a lot.” Dr. Cap paused to see to his drink before he continued “Most of the time it just doesn’t work out. That’s just the truth and we have to accept it. But the love doesn’t ever end. Just the relationship. There comes a point when you have to realize that a life is sometimes more than one single person. Even if you think she’s your soul mate. You have to look at the life you want to live, and maybe it doesn’t match up with your loved one’s vision of their own life. That happens often enough and so people tend to drift away from each other. But that’s all right. To try and force the issue by staying together only causes both to suffer. All things end young man. But that does not take any of the significance out of what you once had. To love someone is permanent. You always have that love and the time you spent together, even when it’s done. Do I understand this at all or am I just rambling?” “I think I understand.” “But you don’t like do you?” said Dr. Cap. “Well you don’t have to. Fighting against certainties is what makes us the men we are. But you’ve got to pick your battles son.” “You think I need give up on Nasya,” said Frank. “I said nothing about that,” snapped Dr, Cap. “I was telling you about something I learned today. What you learned today could be something completely different. Why does everybody always assume I am telling them what to do?” Frank smiled despite himself. First Waylon and now Dr. Cap. The older man took up his glass and finished before putting on his coat. “Now I will have to leave you here. My wife misses me, and I have been gone much too long. Take care young man.” Frank nodded his head in silent farewell and was soon wrapped up in his own thoughts. If Frank were never to see Nasya again, he would still love her. And those days they spent together would still be happy. And worth it. But Frank was not ready to give up yet. At least he knew Nasya had not left him to return to the Good Doctor. That was encouragement enough. So he finished his drink and left the contents of his pockets for the barkeep as a tip. He strolled over to the creaky staircase and began his ascent. The staircase seemed to lengthen as he climbed. It took longer than he remembered to get to the top. At last he reached the door and swung it wide. The bright sunshine blinded him and he stumbled onto the sidewalk. When he regained his sight he saw that he was standing a large circular park. It was just like Waylon had described. The air was clear and the trees were tall and old. Surrounding the Park the streets ran in circles. The further from the park the wider the circles became. In the distance Frank saw the great skyscraper wall that enclosed Aden Park on all sides. In a small, central garden in the middle of the park, Frank found Nasya sitting alone on a stone bench. She was waiting for him.

145 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Carroll Varner IV

Carroll Varner was conceived in Denver, Colorado. He was born in Omaha, Nebraska, and raised in Normal, Illinois. In May of 2002, Carroll graduated from New York University with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Film and Television Production. He enrolled at Florida State University in the Fall of 2006 in an attempt to earn a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. Carroll Varner once rescued a runaway potbelly pig from oncoming traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, California.

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